


Closed Doors and Outstretched Hands

by OneofWebs



Series: DBH - Simon's Backstory [1]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Adultery, Anxiety, Awkward Conversations, Backstory, Baking, Board Games, Bonding, Bookstores, Canon Compliant, Cheating, Christmas, Christmas Party, Cooking, Domestic, Drawing, Drunkenness, Dysfunctional Family, Explosions, Falling In Love, Family, Family Bonding, Family Issues, Flashbacks, Found Family, Gunshot Wounds, Halloween, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Infiltration, Intrusive Thoughts, Kissing, M/M, Major Original Character(s), Minor Character Death, Minor Injuries, Minor Violence, Near Death Experiences, New Year's Eve, Original Character Death(s), Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Panic Attacks, Pet Names, Pining, Power Dynamics, Power Imbalance, Pre-Canon, Presumed Dead, Repairs, Running Away, Science Fair, Selfies, Shooting, Slow Burn, Snow, Suicidal Thoughts, Thanksgiving, Thanksgiving Dinner, Trick or Treating, University, Valentine's Day, Vandalism, dumpster diving
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-08
Updated: 2019-06-05
Packaged: 2019-06-07 11:59:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 34
Words: 281,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15218696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OneofWebs/pseuds/OneofWebs
Summary: Simon is a PL600 model, a CyberLife android model released in 2034. Its function is to act as a domestic assistant and household worker. His particular function, for which Vincent and Tanya Wilks purchased him, was to care for their daughter, Mikaela. Simon finds something here that changes everything, something he hopes to never find again. Something which, inevitability, will lead him to Jericho. Will lead him to Markus. To the revolution.[This is Simon’s Backstory. This is where he came from.][Rating changed to T]Tags will be updated as more story is posted.Check Out My Tumblr If You Want To See More





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> SO here we go. The undertaking of writing Simon's backstory, I have decided to bear that cross. I think it's garbage that we don't actually get to know where Simon comes from, so, with the help (and huge shout out to) my Simkus discord server, I bring you that story.
> 
> It will contain original characters for the span of Simon's backstory, but the story will bleed into the actual events of the game, so stay tuned! Also, canon compliant, but a world where Simon was romancable. As I write more chapters, I'll update the tags, too.

August 6th, 2034-

Before the android attendant could even greet them, Tanya had already picked it out from across the small store. White walls all too bright, with blinking signs and prices strung up all over the place. She couldn't contain her grimace, but no android would ever comment on it—they simply lacked the protocol to realize and acknowledge any humans' disdain for them. Tanya's one saving grace, perhaps, and even better that she could find a pile of plastic in the store that she even remotely thought was acceptable.

"That one," she said, in a huff. Vincent looked at her with his own version of the grimace. Husband of twelve years, and she still only gave him the sweetest of smiles in return. One that looked too fake for him not to have realized, though for their time together, it would've been safe to assume he'd heard some genuine expression. Still, he did not mention otherwise.

"An excellent choice, Ma'am," the android was steadfast in the wake of her rudeness and led the two across the floor over to the particular model she had selected.

Androids weren't _new_ in any sense of the word, but this was a relatively new model. It had only been released at the beginning of the year and was rumored to do everything and anything that needed to be done within the house. While it was a risk as much as it was a step outside her comfort zone, Tanya had come to accept that things just weren't going her way anymore. Things had been picking up with her job. New cases on her desk every day to pour through, more paperwork on top of them. She worked long hours, and long hours meant she wasn't home to help around. In the summer, it wasn't so much of an issue, because Vincent was there. Perks of a professor job, she had always told him, even if it meant he had to clean and cook lunch every now and again. But, summer was coming to an abrupt close within the week, which meant there would be a conflict of interests.

"Now," the android began by leading them across the showroom floor. "The PL600 is relatively new, but it's state of the art when it comes to domestic ability. It has several customizable features, as well, to suit your needs perfectly."

Which sounded fine. Tanya didn't care half as much as she didn't know, but she knew Vincent didn't have an opinion one way or the other. He was more of a bystander for the whole ordeal; there to break open the wallet in the name of childcare, or some sad iteration thereof. With school starting, he'd be busy at the University, just as busy as Tanya. That left their ten-year-old alone, and full time, live in nannies were a rare commodity these days. An android would be cheaper in the long run, regardless of the horror stories Tanya had busied herself with. So, she had carefully, in the moments they'd been in the store, picked out a model flashing, bragging about its home care ability. And, to boot—

"This particular model does come in several variations, two of them female, if you would prefer. Many couples, such as yourselves, are looking for an android to care for their children, and the female model is better suited—"

"I like this one just fine," and she did, because it was male. Because the horror stories she browsed before bed often contained men who were completely enraptured by their female androids. Tabloids and gossip sites being the main source of these articles was of no concern. She wanted the male one. "Besides, there's plenty of housework to be done. You did mention customizations? Just make it good with kids."

The android nodded, "Understood, the necessary modifications can be made." It was just a slight tweak of programming, after all. "It will take but a moment, and you'll be able to take it home today."

Tanya waved her hand dismissively, but the smile on her face was at least something genuine as she padded off to glance around the store. Vincent watched her go for a moment, before turning back to watch from the sidelines. This was a risk, in part, because they'd never had an android before. Much more so because they hadn't the slightest clue how they worked. But, watching it was something fascinating, and Vincent couldn't help but think Mikaela might enjoy the constant companion when she got used to it. He had to hand it to Tanya, as well, even if he didn't want to—the android had been his idea—but she'd picked a nice model. It had a friendly, soft sort of look. Mikaela wasn't easily spooked, per se, but she didn't make friends easily. Her taking a liking to the android was crucial.

"We can always bring it back, if it doesn't work out," Tanya had reappeared at his side within seconds, and he almost jumped at her arrival. She was prim, proper, as she always had been. Everything was purely business, with her dark hair all tightly wound up in a bun on her head, her piercing blue eyes and plum lips. He looked a little disheveled next to her, in an old suit jacket and worn out chucks.

"Sure, but promise to give it a little longer than a day?" he nudged her. She laughed, free and loose, and gave him a firm nod.

"Longer than a day. A week…." She glanced at him, his eyebrows upturned and mouth trembling with the need to smile, "from the first day of school? Just to make sure it can really do everything."

He agreed with that, a slight laugh on the tip of his tongue. Her amicability was one of her better traits, just how easily she could fall back into line and laugh like there was nothing wrong. Like they weren't just about to hand their only daughter into the hands of a machine, a fact they were both painfully trying to ignore. Easier to just brush it aside and never address it than it was to think about the morality of the situation. Besides, some of their closest friends had already gotten androids. They were just going to have the newest and most advanced model.

"Would you like to give it a name?" the android was back.

"No," Vincent interrupted before Tanya could get a word in. "I think our daughter would like to name it."

They followed the android the few feet back to the model, listening idly by as it explained the particulars of the PL600. Everyday chores, childcare, cooking, it could do everything. For the moment, absolutely everything they needed. The perfect caretaker in their absence, but most of the details the android rattled off were just extra and minute. The rambling session ended with a small booklet being handed to them—just a simple startup manual, where the sales android specifically pointed out how to go about setting the name. The naming wasn't required but would make day to day tasks and communications simpler. Otherwise, its name was a long series of numbers, a serial number, and that wouldn't be pleasant to rattle off.

"If there is anything else you have questions about, you will be able to request information from it," the android finished.

"Handy," Vincent hummed, flipping through the book. Convenient for a machine to be so self-aware that it didn't need instructions.

Still, after a few more words of advice, they were walking out the front door with a very quiet android. It kept its head down for the most part, eyes wandering every so often just to take in the surroundings. Neither Tanya nor Vincent had taken even a second to really speak to it either, so its silence wasn't so much out of the ordinary. Not so much since they'd confined it to the back seat of the car, kept a name from it. Without any real purpose given to it, it was left feeling rather lost. Its eyes had only just opened, and it had been met with just as much silence as it was giving, watching the city roll by out the door with its fingers twirled together in its lap.

Vincent watched it from the rear-view mirror, just a glance. It sat perfectly still; it was pale and hadn't spoken a word—doll like in the most curious ways. He hadn't even heard what it sounded like, which was the strangest thing about the situation. To sit there and wonder what something so human even sounded like, it wasn't a feeling he had when meeting a stranger for the first time. It was leaned up against the window, forehead almost pressing against the glass, and just watching with idle interest at the passing scenery. The downtown city buildings, the lights, the displays, the people walking by. Other androids, even, standing in the temporary shelter or walking side by side with their masters. It all faded away into the noise in the background, behind them, as they hit the neighborhood.

The houses stood tall, modern in design, and there were few of them. Yards, gated fences, and porches. Houses that were not quite large, but modest enough that they set a scene for the well off. Each so well-groomed and put together, oiled gates and swept porches. Uniform, and they were the third house on the street with a pleasantly tall lamp just outside the stone fence, embedded in the corner sidewalk. It still had that old-fashioned look to it, but the light was slightly blue and entirely electronic.

Just before the garage, and the driveway, was one larger electronic gate. It opened automatically, then the garage door, and they were inside and parked. Vincent stepped out first, held out his hand for Tanya to take. He stayed long enough to offer his hand to the PL600 too, who was looking all but a little lost in the new environment. But, Tanya took his hand away before the android even realized what it was for, and it stepped out of the car on its own. It followed inside, head still down and lips still sealed, until it entered the house. The door shut behind them, and the kitchen it entered was rather lively. Rather ornate, and soon it realized that the rest of the house matched the same style. The furniture was expensive, all wooden floors, and state of the art electronics installed. Then, the living room.

"Go ahead and sit down," Vincent instructed, and the PL600 followed without question. It sat on the couch, the edge of the cushions, stiff and straight with its hands gripping at its knees.

"I'll go and fetch her," Tanya dismissed herself without another word, and waved her fingers as she disappeared up the stairs.

"You'll be in charge of household chores," Vincent continued, "but more important, with taking care of our daughter. You'll meet her in a moment—her name is Mikaela."

The PL600 nodded, but still did not speak. It just sat there, deathly still, and waited for the sounding footsteps again on the stairs. Two sets, this time, and one obviously of padded, socked feet. The contrast to Tanya's heels was something impressive against the floors. They entered the living room not a split second later, holding hands, and the PL600 had a moment to take it in. The little girl, short with chubby cheeks, had long hair pulled into a braid along the side of her neck, dipped down over her shoulder. The tie was a big, blue flower, and it matched her wide eyes perfectly. Wide, fearful eyes. Its immediate response would have been to go to her, and ask her what was wrong, only it was obvious. It was the problem, something new, maybe even terrifying for a young girl. So, it sat there and only blinked.

"Mikaela," Tanya started, and she even knelt down, "this is going to be your new friend! So, you won't feel lonely when Daddy and I have work." Her voice was soft, gentle, a complete turn over from the way she spoke at the CyberLife store. Her hand was so delicately and comfortingly placed on Mikaela's shoulder, the smile on her face, light.

Mikaela muttered something in return, something that had Tanya laughing lightly into her fingertips and well-manicured nails.

"Yes, this was the surprise we talked about earlier. Won't it be nice to have company while we're gone?"

There was the faintest of nods, and Mikaela even deigned a look over at the PL600. It smiled at her, an automated response, as though it would lighten the mood. Make it seem less opposing, and certainly friendlier. If it really was to fulfill the role of 'friend' to this girl, as well as caretaker.

"Would you like to name it? We left it to you, little bug," Vincent was absolutely beaming at her. With three smiling faces, surely, she would feel comfortable eventually. Enough that she even let go of Tanya's hand to take a few steps closer.

When the android didn't move, she felt a little braver, so she took a few more steps. It sat there, perfectly still, with the gentlest of smiles on its face. It didn't reach for her, and kept it's breathing to a minimum. Unassuming, hopefully, and though it took a few minutes, she finally did approach the android. Her blue eyes, its blue eyes; they stared at each other for a long moment before Mikaela cleared her throat and reached out. She patted the android's hand, and it flinched slightly under her sudden touch. She didn't seem to notice, and instead smiled.

"I'm Mikaela," she said.

The android didn't respond, and instead passed a glance towards Vincent and Tanya, who were looking ever so pleased with themselves at Mikaela's sudden interest in the new machine.

"PL600, register name," Vincent picked it up straight from the manual, and the android looked back down to Mikaela.

She leaned up on her tiptoes to whisper.

"My name is Simon," it answered.

Mikaela gave a sheepish smile, but she backed away immediately on quick toes and was dashing back upstairs before anyone had realized what she was doing. Simon sat there with its head cocked to the side, watching in curiosity as she departed, almost a sad look on the other side of its eyes. But, Vincent laughing caught its attention instead, and it turned sharply to look at him. Laughing didn't seem like the optimal thing to be doing, not if something it had done had truly frightened the girl.

"She's skittish," Vincent warned. He padded over to give Simon a firm pat on the shoulder. "She'll warm up eventually, if you let her."

Simon made an affirmative noise and watched speculatively as Vincent pulled his hand back rather quickly. Tanya and Vincent made eye contact after that, and Tanya stepped forward to take a seat on the coffee table, where she crossed her legs and hands atop her knee. Her smile felt a little forced, and her eyes were dull to it. But, she leaned forward and appeared attentive nonetheless. Vincent took his own seat on the couch and started off what he called an introduction. Simon didn't bother to say anything, because a simple scan would have told it all it needed to know about the two. This seemed more comfortable, however, more human like. So, it listened closely. Made notes where it seemed reasonable to do so, so that it wouldn't forget anything too important.

When they finished, Simon was dismissed with a new list of tasks it would need to accomplish daily. Three meals a day, essentially on demand, which could sometimes mean more than three meals, actually. The three of them were not always home together, at the same time, but this did not seem too out of the ordinary. The two had talked about it like it was just an idle side fact, of little importance. It would not be important to it, then, either. Then, there was laundry. Separated by person, by color, to be done at any convenience. General cleaning of all rooms, nothing was off limits. The only stipulation it had been given was to make itself scarce, fade into the background and attempt not to be noticed. Tanya had made that very clear—she didn't want to realize she had an android in the house. It was fine with that.

It made its way upstairs after that, to begin looking about the house. The middle floor had been mostly self-explanatory. The foyer, which cut off into a hallway with doors each leading to a different area. The living room was on the left, the combination kitchen and dining room had been on the right—with the door out into the garage where they had entered. At the end of that hallway was a closed door with _Vincent W._ carved into the wood, and that was Vincent's office. The staircase was right there, and upstairs was lit by a dangling chandelier, and there was a large open space for Simon to meander through. Cherry wood floors, laid underneath a large and ornate blue carpet, decorated overly with roses and pansies. Just farther in, almost a straight shot from the stairs, was a door with etched flowers in the frame.

That was Mikaela's room. Her name wasn't carved into the wood like had been Vincent's on the office door, and there wasn't anything to make this assumption obvious, but Simon had a feeling. It approached cautiously, however, and knocked tentatively on the door with the back of its knuckles. Then, it took a single step back and waited. Waited, and waited a little while longer before knocking again. Only after the second knock did the doorknob jiggle, click, and the door swing open. Mikaela was standing there, dressed in cloud pajama pants and a loose black t-shirt. Different than what she had been wearing, but it certainly looked more comfortable.

"It can't be time for bed yet," Simon gave her a light smile, noticed how her face seemed to turn red at the insinuation. Then, she shook her head and stepped back just a little farther to open the door. Just a little wider.

"Shall I come in then?" it was sure to ask first, and Mikaela gave the smallest nod she could muster. Simon stepped inside the room at her agreement, and she closed the door quickly behind him. Inside was like a wonderland of blue and purple, draped from her curtains to her floral bedspread, to the carpet on the floor where she had laid out her toys and a single book.

Simon padded over to the little carpet while Mikaela retreated to the relatively clear desk. The book was open and upside down with a worn cover. Her toys consisted wildly between small toy cars and dolls. And there were little statuettes decorating the shelving units hung up all around her room; nothing quite seemed to match, but it seemed right enough. Simon took a seat on the floor and glanced it all over once more before looking to Mikaela. Inquisitive. Eager to learn. She was hunched over her desk with a red crayon in her hand, scribbling on a piece of paper.

"Do you enjoy reading, Mikaela?"

She looked at him, pursed her lips, and scribbled a little harder. When silence followed, she realized that Simon wasn't going to move on without an answer, so she shook her head in time with the crayon.

"We had…summer work," she muttered. Plopped her head into her free hand so that her back was towards Simon, and she could continue to scribble without scrutiny.

"I see," it picked up the book and looked until the bookmark, which admittedly, wasn't even half way through the pages. "And, when do you start school?"

Mikaela's shoulders stiffened, and Simon heard the crayon drop down to the desk. The answer was well enough that it would be soon, perhaps even the following day. It was a Sunday, and Mikaela seemed stressed about something. Simon was beginning to think it wasn't its fault for her unhappy behavior, and that certainly put an ease on its status. It still smiled at her, though she couldn't see, and leaned back onto its palms, digging into the carpet.

"What do you do for fun, Mikaela?"

She eyed him from the triangle her arm was making, hand still in her hair. It was almost a glare, but her lips were pouting, and her face was red. "I play," Like it was obvious, and she certainly didn't appreciate the probing. Simon hummed in response and looked back down around the floor. Its apparent disinterest prompted Mikaela to turn in her chair and look at it, folding her arms across her chest with hunched shoulders and an annoyed look on her face.

"I like to make stories. She's always the hero," she pointed to a particular doll on the ground with long brown hair, "because she looks like me."

Simon picked up the doll and held it in the air, just askew enough that it could see Mikaela beside it, "She certainly does."

Mikaela hopped down off the chair to swipe her doll from Simon's hand, to brush its hair back with her fingers, "Don't you have to clean or something?" she muttered.

"I can do many things."

"Gale has an android. She cleans."

Simon's brows furrowed as it went over that sentence in its head, "And who is Gale?"

"She's my friend," Mikaela's voice was getting quieter with each sentence, and she was retreating to the edge of her bed. Simon straightened up immediately, folded his legs, and wiped the expression off his face. All that remained of its perturbed confusion was the blinking, yellow LED on its temple. Immediately, Mikaela softened. "Monika does all the cleaning. She's nice and makes good noodles."

The LED quickly returned to blue, and Simon found itself smiling, "That certainly sounds wonderful. Do you like noodles?"

"Lasagna," though she said it sort of slurred, with the letters misplaced. Simon nodded, mostly to itself, and stored that particular piece of information away for future use. For an information gathering session, it had done rather well for itself. Mikaela still wasn't talking much, but she seemed a little friendlier. At least, her legs were kicking from her perch on her bed, and she was smiling at her little doll.

"Though, my primary order is to care for you, Mikaela," Simon told her, then, and it grabbed her attention quickly. "I am told your parents work quite a lot. They would like us to be friends."

Mikaela nodded, "Mom doesn't even think that," she pursed her lips.

"Do you believe we could be friends?" it gave her a soft smile. Her face turned red again as she stiffened up, then dropped her head to look only at the doll in her hands. After a long, heavy moment, Mikaela nodded and whispered something.

Simon pushed itself to its feet and stood there, hands folded in front of itself while it waited. The silent treatment was having the best results; Mikaela felt ignored. She didn't want to be ignored, at least not to the extent that it appeared like a lack of interest. So, when she noticed that Simon was just standing there, like it was just waiting for an order or something better to do, she huffed.

"I don't have many friends."

Which lined up with what he'd already been told of her. She was quiet, reserved, kept to herself. Had good grades, but not much else. Her teachers said she was a pleasure in class because she wasn't disruptive, but it was clear that something was lacking, something that Simon found familiar and safe without much cause to. Something, at least, that it would be able to latch onto which could make becoming _friends_ that much easier. It was a matter of trust, so it approached several steps before stopping again.

"May I sit?" it asked.

Mikaela nodded and scooted to the side, that she might make room enough for it to sit beside her. And, it did, enough not to bounce the mattress under its weight, and it simply folded its hands up in its lap again.

"How would you feel if we finished reading your book together, this evening? There's other things I should get to today, but we could begin after dinner?"

Mikaela looked at it for a moment, her eyebrow pushed up like she was shocked at the suggestion that she do her homework, or maybe more so at the suggestion they do it _together_. Simon only smiled at her, and after another long minute, knew that she wasn't going to answer. Not directly, anyway, and perhaps her shock was answer enough. Instead, it stood and dusted its pants, straightened its shirt.

"Call on me if you'd like, alright? I'll be around," and it left but a gentle touch on her shoulder. It wasn't so much to be unwarranted and unwelcome, but just enough that she knew its intentions were kind. The gesture seemed to calm her, something similar to what Tanya had done earlier, and Mikaela nodded at Simon just before it ducked out the door.

After that, it was a matter of exploring the rest of the house and tidying as it went. Mikaela's room would be better left for another time, so Simon made his way through each of the rooms upstairs. There was first the bathroom, which was relatively clean, save the mess of bottles behind the frosted door and rugs that needed to be straightened. Just the next door down was an empty bedroom, with a partially made bed that dawned only one pillow, and a mess of old linens and knick-knacks all over the floor. Though it was a spare room, Simon deduced, it was most likely being used for storage, and seemed a bit of a project. Simon made a mental note to check in on its permissions later and ask what Tanya or Vincent would like done with the room. It closed the door and promptly found the real mess was within the master bedroom at the other end of the hall.

Vincent seemed to have an unholy hobby of throwing all of his clothes on the floor, while Tanya seemed to try to hit the wicker hamper but missed. Her pile was rather spread out, yet all contained to the hamper's immediately vicinity. There was a single vanity, in which there were various containers and tubes of makeup all spread out, some left open with a dried pool underneath them where it was obvious she hadn't touched it in a long while. Other things seemed well taken care of, but not put away. The mirror of the vanity was covered in photographs and small sticky notes, and though they seemed a relic, were there for a purpose.

The house was not entirely devoid of electronics, as Simon had seen from his wandering of the bottom level. It was no different in this room, where there was a digital frame on the bedside flashing between several pictures in various order. There was a pair of glasses and a notebook set aside next to it, and Simon could only infer that this was Vincent's side of the bed. The other side had a stack of novels and a few unopened letters. Simon set to tidying it all up, straightening the stacks and the letters, the makeup monstrosity on the vanity. It was a stretch, but it found no hesitation when it plucked up the dried-up bottle of nail polish and its twin dried stick of eyeliner to drop them into the trash. The stains had left their mark, but surely Tanya wouldn't be missing the product anytime soon.

After Simon made the bed, it stepped into the master bath. Somehow, it was less of a mess than the bedroom. The towels were all stashed away in the hamper, though it seemed no one had actually emptied it in over a week. Laundry would be its next objective, it decided. After cleaning up the sink, tucking the hair dryer and straightener back into the empty drawer, Simon opened the medicine cabinet. The shelves were dusty, save the spot under the singular bottle of aspirin sitting there, half empty. It dusted, scrubbed, then inspected that bathtub. For the moment, there was nothing out of place, and Simon scooped up both hampers on its way out of the master bedroom.

Downstairs, Mikaela was tucked up at the bar counter with a juice box when Simon popped in. The laundry room was off the kitchen, the door on the back wall beside the refrigerator, where Tanya was currently rummaging through the various bottles on the middle shelf in search of something. Simon stood and waited for her to finish, that it might slide by her without causing any issue. In accordance to her earlier complaint, it did not even speak. When she found what she was looking for, an unfortunate bottle of red juice, she backed away and closed the doors to the refrigerator; not without pause, so that she could give Simon the strangest look. Simon still ducked around her and worked on opening the door.

"Help him!" Mikaela whined, and Simon gave the shortest pause at her statement. It managed to work the door open seconds later, without help, and Tanya scoffed.

Later, Simon scrounged together some sort of meal for lunch, and even without much firsthand experience with what made a good meal, it could tell soup wasn't the best thing it could've served. But, the house was almost entirely empty, devoid of actual life, save the bedrooms which were abundant with mess. It made another mental note that it would have to inquire about shopping—whether that was something it would be in charge of, or Tanya and Vincent would take care of on their own. While they ate, however, Simon busied himself back in the laundry room. It wasn't until after it had folded the first load that the door opened.

"Si…mon?" it was Mikaela, and Simon stopped immediately to look at her.

"Yes, Mikaela?" it spoke as it approached her, dropped down into a swat with its elbows resting on its knees.

"There's an… I have to do this," she held out a stapled together packet of paper, "for the book…"

Which meant it needed to be less of a bedtime activity, and more of a now activity. Simon smiled at her and patted her shoulder, "Of course. Let me finish with the laundry, and I'll meet you upstairs."

She scurried off without another word, and Simon stood back up to finish its work. The laundry was folded, and the loads switched out; another one started in the washer. Simon set a timer, mentally, so that it could return right on the dot to change the loads. The shorter the time it could spend working on this particular task, the more time it could spend assisting Mikaela. And, it needed to; one glance at the calendar flashing blue on the refrigerator told it that. School was not just soon but starting the very next day. They were running out of time, and its timer was counting down from an hour already.

It hurried upstairs to find Mikaela already snug up in her bed, with the fan overhead on, and her comforter snug up under her chin. Simon gave itself the moment to smile, to take in how she was plucking at a page before she noticed and grunted at it. Then, it moved across the room, door closed, and sat at the edge of the bed.

"No, sit up here," Mikaela urged and scooted just enough again to make her point clear. Simon glanced at her for a moment, confused, but agreed with her command seconds later. It pulled itself up onto the bed and moved in close, resting back against the pillows. If Mikaela noticed, or was bothered by, the fact that it hadn't removed its shoes, she didn't mention it. Instead, she curled up into Simon's side and held the book out where they could both see it. Which was a development it had not expected so soon.

"Shall I read it to you?" it offered. There wasn't a single moment's hesitation before she was handing the book straight to it to read, her head now leaning against its torso. Simon adjusted them both, so that she could be comfortable, and its joints would not be under stress.

"Now, don't fall asleep, hm? If you do, I'll have to quiz you after each chapter," it warned.

Mikaela groaned, but she didn't protest. This had been entirely easier than Simon had projected, given her original behavior, and it found it quite enjoyed leaning there against the pillows with her and reading. She was responsive, made comments when they got to more dramatic parts. Questioned when things got confusing, or she had missed something earlier which made the newest scene less clear. When Simon had to leave for the moment to tend to the laundry, Mikaela worked on the packet, filling in the answers for the chapter they had managed to get through in the hour. Simon was always back within twenty minutes, loads switched, and clean laundry put away.

They stopped only for dinner, for which Simon was able to pull together hamburgers with the last of something edible it could find in the kitchen. It stood by the counter, hands folded in front of itself, while the family ate. Tanya had her tablet on next to her plate, where she was scrolling through a heap of text without much reading most of what it had to say. Mikaela ate in silence, while Vincent had taken his meal and retreated back to his office. Another glance at the calendar had told Simon that University classes were not due to start for another week, which meant Vincent would be busy preparing his lectures.

"I'll be along shortly," Simon told Mikaela, just before picking up her empty plate and sending her off. Tanya had not finished quite yet, and she eyed the two curiously before Simon moved back into the kitchen. There was a clanking of dishes before it returned to stand by the door.

"Getting along?" she questioned.

"I have been assisting her with her summer assignment, Tanya."

Tanya snorted, "Don't get familiar. I thought she finished that thing months ago."

"She will have it wrapped up this evening, I will ensure it."

"Her bedtime is 9:30, at the latest. Do be sure to have her tucked in by then, yes? We need to be up early for school, and I expect you will take care of her morning things. Do you need a list?"

"No, Ma'am," Simon smiled, and it was eerily similar to the forced grimace most androids wore. Tanya didn't care for it and picked up her tablet to leave. She left the rest of her food on her plate for Simon to clean up, and it did so, dutifully.

It brought the final load of laundry up with it, into Mikaela's room. The load had been entirely her clothes, and Simon made itself comfortable on the floor to fold it. Mikaela was still finishing up the packet section for chapter twelve, and they had two chapters to finish before it was off to bed.

"I'm quite impressed with you today, Mikaela. You've done quite a lot of work," Simon spoke softly as it set aside a neatly folded shirt.

Mikaela scoffed in return, "You did most of it. I hate reading."

"So, you've said," another t-shirt folded.

"Do you like reading? You do it good," Mikaela was lying flat on her stomach, on the bed, with the packet propped on top of a powered off tablet. Now, she was looking at Simon, instead of her work, with her head sideways on the comforter. Her question was meant to stall, and it left Simon sitting there thinking, yellow LED blinking.

"I'm not sure I can say just yet. If you have more books to read for school, however, I'll be glad to help."

Mikaela let out a little giggle and returned to her activity packet. Simon finished the laundry in turn, and tucked things into their appropriate drawers. By the time it was finished, Mikaela was already sitting up by the pillows again, with the book, waiting for it to rejoin her on the bed. Two more chapters, as it recalled again, and it was certain they would have plenty of time. The clock read 6:47pm, as it were, which gave them just shy of two and a half hours. Simon read to her just a touch faster than it had been, and she kept up splendidly.

When they reached the last chapter, Mikaela took to working on the activity packet as Simon read. It was the last chapter, and as far as she was concerned, it wouldn't be that important on a test or a quiz, or even another assignment like this, so it was alright if she missed something important. The ending was all that really mattered, which stood more for entertainment than it did any intellectual pursuits. Simon really couldn't help but admire her ability to work, at ten years old, and read the last chapter just a little slower, to ensure she got the most out of it. The ending was a rather simple one, just the exact phrasing shy of "happily ever after", but Mikaela enjoyed it. She'd stopped working on the packet for the few minutes it took to hear the last few pages and clapped when Simon closed the book.

"That was so good," she laughed.

"Thank you. Perhaps we can do this again sometime?"

"Yeah, only if it's homework," she rolled her eyes and flipped back onto her stomach, where she had been on her back to hear the ending. She picked her pencil back off the bedspread.

"You finish the packet, hm? I need to go around and lock things up, turn the lights off and such. I'll return to get you ready for bed," Simon told her, nothing more than a mere formality, because it was already moving towards the door while it spoke. Mikaela didn't give a direct response, just hummed lightly and scribbled a long sentence down on a thick black line.

Simon slid out of the room and closed the door quietly behind him. There was a light on in master bedroom at the end of the hall, but the door was closed. Even if Vincent was still holed away in his study, Mrs. Wilks was tucked away in the room, which meant Simon needed to stay quiet. None of the floorboards creaked, which made it an easy walk around the house. It locked the garage door, which still used a manual lock, and turned on the security system for the night. The front porch lights came on, and the rest of the lights in the house turned off. With one glance, Simon could see that the light in Vincent's study was also off, so everyone was turning in early for the evening. Its ascent of the stairs was quieter than the descent had been, and Simon did not even bother to knock on the door to Mikaela's room before it entered. Mikaela was tucking her packet into her backpack when Simon entered. She didn't so much as glance at him, just continued to try and force the paper into the open pocket.

"No, no," Simon hurried up to her, "I'll take care of this. You, into bed," it prodded.

Mikaela groaned and left the paper half hanging out of the bag, but she did as she was told. She huffed and hopped up into her bed, hard enough that the mattress dipped and squeaked. She bounced. While she scrambled under the covers, fluffed her pillows, Simon straightened out her bag in record timing. It pulled a relatively nice outfit out of her dresser as well and set it out atop her desk for the morning. The toys, it would leave for tomorrow, while she was gone. For the moment, it went to the bed, pulling the chair from the desk with it so it could sit down.

"Is there anything you need before you go to sleep?" it asked, pulling the covers up to her chin.

"Keep the fan on, okay?" she asked, pleaded, almost. Simon gave her an affirmative nod.

"If you need anything at all, Mikaela, do not hesitate to call for me. I'll be close," it waited a moment for Mikaela to make herself comfortable, then stood up and put the chair back in its place.

 

August 7th, 2034-

Simon was knocking on Mikaela's door fifteen exact seconds before her alarm clock went off, and once it started blaring, it entered without hesitation. Mikaela was tangled up in her sheets, comforter half thrown on the floor, and the remote control to her small television had fallen off her night stand. It smiled for a brief moment before hitting the off button on the alarm, listening to Mikaela groaning from the bed. She looked groggy, pained at the idea that morning had already come. The sun wasn't up, and she shouldn't be up, but school had top priority at the moment. She rolled out of bed without Simon even pushing, though it did have to shake her.

"I'm up, I'm up…" she whined; her feet hit the ground with a thud, and she stretched her arms out to their full span.

It took Simon a minute to realize what she was asking for, but it grabbed up her outfit for the day and met her on the other side of the bed. She was pliant and cooperative while it changed her out of her bed clothes, into the new ones, and then she toddled off to her own private little bathroom. Seconds later, Simon heard the faucet water running. While Mikaela busied herself with dental hygiene, Simon did a double check that her bag was put together and grabbed up her shoes to set both by the door. It waited, then, patiently, for Mikaela to emerge again. Only, she had a hairbrush in one hand and a small blue tie in the other.

"Do my hair," she muttered.

Simon took the brush, "How would you like it done?"

"Braid," and Simon nodded. "Gale is gonna be so jealous. Monika never does _her_ hair, she says that's not her job."

Simon noted it again, the particular use of _she_ in that sentence, "Monika?"

Mikaela nodded, not so hard that she pulled her own hair, but hard enough that the half-made braid shook in the air, "Monika _cleans_ ," she waved her hands out in front of her to really exaggerate the point. Simon almost laughed, but it came out more of a snort.

"I'm surprised your mother lets you refer to androids in such a manner," it was wrapping the hair tie around the bottom, straightening it so the little blue flower was on front.

"Mom's just like that," like that explained everything. She didn't say another word, just put her shoes on and grabbed her bag.

Simon followed her down the stairs, but while she went into the living room, it went into the kitchen. Tanya was sitting at the bar with a cup of coffee and her tablet. There was no acknowledgment between them as Simon began to prepare a small breakfast. Enough for three, though there was hardly anything in the house. Which was something it had still neglected to address.

"I was wondering if perhaps I might go shopping today," Simon looked at Tanya, "if that's alright with you, Mrs. Wilks."

She glanced up at him, eyebrow raised like the question offended her very state of being, "We usually take care of that."

"Tell him to buy cereal! Eggs are gross!" Mikaela's voice wafted in from across the hallway, and they both looked out to it. It had barely been twenty-four hours, but the way she referred to him stirred something. It was remarkable, the acceptance of children.

"Fine. Vince can set you up with the accounts," Tanya huffed. "But," she glared, "there will be no purchasing without permission. And I'll only authorize you to spend so much—"

"Of course, Mrs. Wilks," Simon smiled, flipped an egg in the pan, and went silent. Tanya couldn't muster up the words, after that, so she grunted and returned to her reading.

When time came for Tanya and Mikaela to be on their way, the car was already waiting outside in the driveway, and Simon was standing by the front door to open it for them. It gave a shallow bow, one which made Mikaela smile brightly, and pulled the handle with a bit of flair. Tanya didn't care for the theatrics, but even she had to grin with the way Mikaela seemed to be enjoying it. Perhaps an android assistant wasn't the worst idea they'd had. Mikaela was still keeping most of her enjoyment to herself, on the down low, but she was opening up slowly. If this was what twenty-four hours could do, Tanya was excited to see what a week could do. Assuming, by then, Simon had proved himself a worthy addition to the house.

"Have a fine day, Mrs. Wilks. Mikaela," Simon smiled after them.

"B-bye, Simon!" Mikaela waved. "Mom—say goodbye to him!"

Tanya let out a pained groan, but she did as she was asked—turned, and nodded her head ever slightly. It was enough, though she didn't actually open her mouth, and Simon simply waved. It closed the door once the car pulled out, the metal gate closing behind it, and slumped into the fine carved wood. The hit against the door pushed a breath out of him, and Simon brought his hands up to his chest. There was just something, a hick-up in his code, maybe, when Mikaela referred to him.

Him.

He certainly liked that sound of that. Surely there would be no problem with adapting to it, to the way she talked about him. Adapting would help, in the long run, so he told himself as he pushed off to approach Vincent about the spare bedroom situation. After that, he would go shopping.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 2 is already in the works but I'm full of anxiety so we'll see how that goes. Come and talk to me about it on tumblr. See if you can spot the secrets. I'm desperate.
> 
>   
>  [Check Out My Tumblr If You Want To See More](https://tantumuna.tumblr.com)   
> 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I said I was going to try and post every Sunday, and then immediately turned around and finished chapter 2 like, on Monday. I've just been sitting on it because that's the way I operate. Chapter 3 is also already in the works so like, just assume I've never seen a regular upload schedule in my life.

September 15th, 2034-

The spare bedroom project was lasting longer than Simon had anticipated, or even wanted, and he was fortunate that he couldn't particularly feel anything. Vincent had been roped into assisting, or rather, leading the charge straight into the mass of unnecessary acclimation that the spare bedroom was hiding. They had three piles going, one for keep, one for maybe, and one for get rid of. The get rid of pile had exactly one thing in it, and that was Simon's foot, because Vincent was terrible at making decisions, and Simon was sitting on the floor. For the past fifteen minutes, one piece of furniture had Vincent's entire bout of attention—an old chest with a worn-out lock. The obvious choice was to get rid of it, but Vincent seemed to be studying it as though it were a priceless antique—a laughable idea, and Simon was ready to grab it and make it the first item in the trash pile. Except, that was against his programming. Except, there was screaming from downstairs which cut the thought process short. Vincent, who had opened his mouth as though he was about to make his judgment, stopped short to listen in.

"—until you finish that! We've had this discussion before, young lady!" Tanya was shouting, which was becoming her normal way of handling even the smallest of issues.

"I can't! I don't want to!" Mikaela sounded like she was crying. Simon cleared his throat as the two continued shouting.

"I should probably go take care of that," Simon muttered.

Vincent nodded, and the look on his face was something sympathetic, "I'll keep up here," he rolled up his left sleeve. He'd already had the right one rolled up, from when he had to reach under the bed to grab something to look at. That, and it was getting hot in the stuffy little room, sweat beading at his forehead.

Simon glanced a second longer than he needed to before dipping out of the room, leaving the door slightly ajar in hopes of getting some air moving. Just as he made his way into the living room, Tanya was slamming her tablet down on the coffee table, huffing through her nose in frustration. Whatever she was going to say died on her lips, though, when she turned ever so and saw Simon standing in the doorway. Instead, she glared at him, and the moment of silence gave Mikaela her chance to escape. She dashed by Simon, and her footsteps disappeared up the stairs in echoes.

"Do make sure she finishes her work, hm?" Tanya smiled, but it was laced with poison. The way her eyes squinted up was almost angry. Dangerous. Simon gulped.

"Of course, Mrs. Wilks," and he turned quickly to follow up the stairs.

Mikaela had left her door wide open, leaving an unobstructed view to her desk. At which, she was not, but Simon couldn't mistake the pitiful noise coming out from the room. He sighed but took a turn to head back into the spare bedroom for a moment. Vincent hadn't moved from his spot, or had moved back to the same position, because the old chest was now sitting in the throwaway pile. It must've taken considerable effort to put it there, so Simon smiled when he saw it.

"There's been a conflict, Vincent. I need to attend to Mikaela." Vincent's name still left a funny feeling on his tongue, when he said it. The first time he'd ever attempted to address Vincent, he'd attempted to be polite, in a similar manner to how Tanya wanted to be addressed. Vincent, however, had nearly spit out his coffee with sputtering laughter. He went off into an immediate story about how his students don't even call him Professor or Dr. Wilks, so there was no need for Simon to be out here calling him Sir, or any variation thereof. He preferred it informal and relaxed.

"Yeah, course," Vincent threw up his hand, "I'll be here if you decide to come back."

Simon bowed his way out but left the door ajar as he had before. Then, he hurried back over to Mikaela's room, where her pathetic whimpering had turned into blubbering. He did knock on the door before he slid inside, but he didn't wait for her approval. Instead, he shut the door behind him and made a cautious way over to the side of her bed. When he knelt down, she looked at him from the crease in her elbow where her face was buried, and her eyes were puffy and red. Being what he was, Simon reacted immediately with his hand on her back, to soothe her and quiet her down.

"What's wrong?" he gave her the warmest smile he could muster.

"I wanna go to my friend's house," she muttered, eyed Simon warily before looking back down at the crook of her arm.

"I suppose there's something preventing that then, yes?" he curled her hair back before her hear so he could get a better look at her. It was her pouting face, the one he'd come to know well. The face of a child who was guilty and indignant. She knew she was wrong but wanted her mother to be just as wrong. At least, Tanya had been the one who started yelling, which was entirely uncalled for.

"Homework…"

There it was, not that Simon didn't already know the answer. But, it was a Friday evening, and Mikaela had been promised a trip to Gale's house. They couldn't have gone home together, because Gale rode the bus, and Mikaela didn't have a pass. All of it was instead stipulated on whether Mikaela had finished her homework, and she swore up and down that she had. Except, that was a lie. It wasn't the first time she had lied about finishing her homework, and the first zero she received in a class had been the first and final straw.

"Shall we get started then? I'll help," he promised, and pulled away to find her backpack. His offer seemed to have stirred something up in her, because she was sitting up when he glanced back. He gestured for her to follow, hop off the bed and make her way over to the desk with him. He'd spun the chair around for her to sit in and set out the work for her. When she didn't bound on over, though, he stopped and glanced at her.

She was biting at her lip, sitting at the edge of the bed and looking down at her swinging feet. The bag she had picked to be her overnight bag was lying there, open and unfilled, because she hadn't been upstairs since she and Tanya arrived home. Honestly, he'd seen this behavior before. Her, purposefully setting the air around her sour and sad. She wanted something, and he was helpless. Simon couldn't help but want to have her best interest as heart, even if the right thing would've been to have her sit down and do her homework. After all, what Tanya didn't know, wouldn't hurt either of them, and Simon could perfectly copy Mikaela's handwriting.

"How about this," Simon began, "you pack your bag for your overnight stay, and I'll finish your homework."

Mikaela immediately perked up, jumping off the bed with so much excitement that she could not keep her squeal contained, "Are you serious!? Like—for real, Si?!"

Simon blinked at her, then nodded. The LED on his temple had turned a blinking yellow again while he tried to short this out in his head. Tanya certainly wouldn't like this course of action, but his overall objective had been to care for and befriend Mikaela. This seemed to be the best course of action, especially when he glanced down at the subject matter. History. An important subject, all things considered, but it was Mikaela's least favorite. There was no ability to work her way through it, to figure things out; it was strictly memorization. A long list of facts that she didn't want to look at, and at her age, it was almost understandable. It would technically be going against his order to demand that she do it. Helping her through it would be one thing, but the way that her face just lit up answered his questions for him. Status returned to blue, and Simon took a seat at the desk.

"We don't have long, alright. And," he glanced at her, from over his shoulder. "Si?" Short for Simon.

She dashed across the room to hang off the chair, up on her tip toes so she could whisper, "It's going to be a special nickname. You should call me one, too."

Simon smiled, "I see. I'll think on it, hm?"

Mikaela gave a swift nod, then was turned back around in an instant to begin packing her bag. Simon watched her for a moment longer, then turned back to the desk. The simplicity of the assignment was almost apparent, save remembering it was for a fourth grader. There was nothing so intense about the Civil War that they needed to be teaching ten-year olds, so the overarching theme had been the goal. Just to give them a taste of what they'd inevitably be learning about for the next four years of their grade school lives, and then onward into High School where they may as well just re-learn everything from scratch. However, it did make for a quickly finished paper. All written perfectly in Mikaela's handwriting, with Mikaela's diction, and she was attempting to put her shoes on now.

"You won't be lonely while I'm gone, right?" Mikaela wiggled her toes before she jumped off the floor.

Simon busied himself putting her finished homework back into her backpack, to ensure she would not forget it come Monday. He was hoping with earnest that he could just ignore her question, because in reality—no, he wouldn't be lonely. Loneliness was a human emotion, one that he had no concept of. But, there was such an expectant look on her face when Simon finally glanced back over to her, with her red little cheeks and wide eyes. She had no real concept of what Simon was, not really, and she didn't understand the color status on his temple. It made things like this easy, when he smiled.

"Of course," yellow, blinking, "I'm always lonely when you're gone. However, your father and I are busy with the spare bedroom. I'm sure I'll manage."

That answer seemed to suffice, and Mikaela put her hands on her hips and puffed out her chest. "Yeah, but that's boring. Nobody wants to clean," he didn't correct her. He was built to clean. "You should just come with me."

"I can't spend the night at Gale's, Mikaela."

She rolled her eyes, "Why, cuz Mom says so?"

"Alright," Simon stood up and ushered her out of the room. "No more of that."

She protested with a loud whine, stomping her foot, but she went without pause and waited for Simon to close her door. He straightened his shirt before gesturing for her to head down the stairs. She would descend, and he would rejoin Vincent in the spare room to continue their project. It was long since overdo for a finish, but this had been the first real weekend Vincent hadn't had something to worry about with his classes. He'd even been the one to approach Simon for assistance, who had, of course, readily agreed to help. Unfortunately, Mikaela had something else in mind. Mid gesture, she stole his hand instead and bounded down the stairs. Realistically, it would've been easy to just not follow her, pull his hand back and not move a single inch. But, there was a high probability that it would cause her injury, which was against everything Simon was programmed for. For that, he went down the stairs after her, willingly.

"Mom! Mom!" Mikaela dragged him straight into the living room, where Tanya looked about ready to down an entire bottle of headache medication. She had her tablet set up dutifully next to her laptop, and a few stray paper files from an office that still believed in paper. Her eyes were drained, and Simon had seen the look before. Extra work. Her job was never quite done.

"Mikaela, please do not scream. What do you want?" she groaned. Didn't deign to keep her annoyance to herself, though Mikaela was none the wiser to it.

"Can Simon come with me?!"

Tanya's face dropped, confusion, shock. Something. She directed her glare at Simon, who had taken to not making eye contact with her when she was in one of these moods. His shoulders were ever so hunched, eyes and head down cast. Unassuming—it wasn't his fault, and surely, she could put that together the way his hand was hanging limply in Mikaela's demanding grasp.

"Absolutely not. It has things it needs to take care of here. But," she leaned back into the couch, letting herself sort of sink away for a moment and stretch her back. "It can drop you off. Simon, take Mikaela to her friend's house."

"Understood," Simon replied, and spared a glance to Mikaela. Mikaela, who was absolutely vibrating with excitement at the idea. She let go of Simon's hand to run off on her own, through the hallway and then off through the dining room and kitchen. She called back something about waiting in the car, and her declaration was followed shortly by the sound of the garage door opening and closing.

"I'll have you pick her up tomorrow, too. By eleven, not a second later."

"Understood, Ma'am," he bowed his exit, and turned to follow the path Mikaela had taken. The moment he was out in the garage, the atmosphere lightened. Mikaela was standing impatiently by the car, her foot tapping, and her fingers furiously typing on her phone.

"Come on," Simon opened the car, and paused while Mikaela climbed into the back.

It wasn't quite an entirely automated car, as far as he could tell. The very same one he'd been brought to the house in over a month ago. And, ever since then, it had felt strange to be the one operating it, even with express permissions. The first time he'd done it, he'd gone to get groceries. Reasonably, the store was within walking distance, but he was also feeding three people. That was too much for him to carry, even if he realistically had the strength to it. Even so, something about the car would never quite be comfortable, even as Simon took a seat in the front. It may have been a self-driver, but it needed actual input to start up. Simon's hand was key enough, and something Mikaela had never seen.

She was leaning over his shoulder when she watched his skin peel back to reveal the white, robotic hand beneath. That connection on the sensor started the car, and Mikaela let out a bit of a pained noise when she collapsed back into her seat. It was the first Simon had even realized she was there, and he turned the chair to look at her while the garage door opened. Fingers, furiously typing again, like she was trying to ignore something else. Something else being Simon, and the reminder that he wasn't quite what he seemed to be. In the moments it took for the car to roll out of the garage, Simon studied his own hand.

"I didn't mean to startle you," he said.

Mikaela looked at him for a moment, though her gaze was obscured by the bangs across her forehead. She dipped back down again to look at her phone, but she wasn't typing. Just waiting for another message.

"Did you want to look? Sometimes, it helps," he gave her a warm smile, one she twitched to return when she saw him. But, not quite. Her lips quivered, and she still looked wary. But, when Simon held out his hand, she didn't hesitate to set aside her phone and take his fingers in hers. When she nodded, Simon retracted the skin slowly, starting at the very tips of his nails and back. It moved with such fluidity, even as slow as it went, that Mikaela was mesmerized by it.

"It looks like water."

"It does, doesn't it?" Simon agreed, and stopped when his entire hand was bare and upturned in hers. She smoothed the pads of her finger over his palm, just to feel.

"Why do you do that?" she looked at him, eyes wide with her curiosity. Her fingers stalled so that she could just squeeze his hand.

"So, I can look like you," he told her, as simply as he could think to, and bent down to be at eye level with her. "Lots of people are startled by things like me."

She nodded, curled her fingers around Simon's hand to close it into a fist, then gave him a smile. "I think you're okay."

At that, he did let out a half-stifled laugh, "That's good to know. Now, I'll be back to pick you up tomorrow, at eleven," he took his hand back, skin covered, and straightened up to look outside.

Gale didn't live too far away. In another neighborhood, one with a few run down and empty houses, with cars left to rot on the side of the street, and grass that was never quite green. There was something charming about the way each house looked different, though. Something less cookie cutter, regardless of the state of the neighborhood. Mikaela appreciated it too, and she spent more time at Gale's house than Gale did at Mikaela's. Tanya would've had it the other way around. She didn't care for the neighborhood, and much less for Mikaela's choice of companionship. Another fact that Mikaela was, and should remain, blissfully unaware of.

"Eleven…thirty?" Mikaela was already shaking in her seat, watching the houses roll by until Gale's was in view.

"Eleven," Simon told her, firmly. "Mrs. Wilks wants you home."

"Fine," she rolled her eyes.

Then, the car door opened just as the front door did. Gale was waiting eagerly, clutching at the door frame with a wide, toothy grin on her face. Mikaela bounced out of the car, and Simon followed quickly to stop her from dashing away too fast. He took her by the shoulders, Gale watching from the background with pursed lips and curiosity and knelt down in front of her.

"Eleven," he told her again. "If you need anything, just call." It was a perk of being what he was, in this case. Mikaela could skip through everything and call him, directly, which often made for faster turnaround time if she needed something. Tanya and Vincent were busy, and could get to it, but Simon had all the time in the world to give her. Mikaela nodded and held her phone up in front of her face.

"Got it. Try not to be too lonely, okay?"

"Of course. Have a good time, Mikki," he stood up and shoved her off. She stumbled forward, turned around with a wide-eyed look on her face, and Simon only waved. Until Mikaela reached the front door, Simon just stood there with his hands folded in front of him, by the car with open doors.

"Is that your android?!" Gale's voice echoed with her excitement, and Mikaela responded with a giggle.

"Yeah! His name is Simon," she was glancing back over her shoulder, lip bitten.

"Hi, Simon!" Gale shouted, waving her arm vigorously over her head. He waved back. Something about the idea of being Mikaela's Android had him smiling.

Once home, Simon stopped long enough to prepare dinner, to be served separate for the evening. Tanya was still working away in the living room, hunched over and looking more and more zombie-like by the second, and, considering the banging upstairs, Vincent was still rooting about in the storage room. So, something simple. Simon made chicken wraps and left a plate and glass of water with Tanya, without a word. She didn't say anything, either, but glanced at Simon. In her own way, thanking him. The second plate, and a full bottle of water, Simon took upstairs with him back to the spare room.

"Hey, welcome back," Vincent was on the far side of the room, sitting on the floor with only his messy brown hair peeking out from over the dusty bedspread.

"I brought dinner," and Simon made his way around the piles, which he noticed hadn't moved since he'd been gone, and held down the plate and water. Vincent gestured with his head, ushering Simon to sit down beside him, which wasn't a request he could refuse. So, he settled cross legged beside Vincent, and only then did Vincent take the plate and water bottle.

"Thanks. You're always on time, it's crazy."

"I'm programmed to be on time," Simon stated, matter of fact, and stared down at his lap while Vincent took a giant bite out of the wrap.

"Yeah but, like," talking through a mouth full of tortilla, chicken, and lettuce, "everyone slips up."

"I'm not supposed to slip up."

Vincent looked at him for a long, drawn out, and heavy moment, before shrugging the comment off. "You been helpful, though. Kaela loves you to pieces."

"Then I've accomplished my objective. That was what you and Mrs. Wilks were after, was it not?"

Vincent laughed, "Yeah, something like that. You don't have to be so stiff—I keep telling you that," he knocked his shoulder into Simon, who didn't so much as flinch. Vincent grimaced, rolled his shoulder instead. "Youch."

"I noticed you moved the chest into the maybe pile. This room will never be cleaned, at this rate."

"Well—" Vincent rolled his eyes, took another bite of the wrap, "—not like we have any visitors who use the room?"

According to the number of pictures that were in the house, ones that looked like family portraits, Simon didn't see the truth in the statement. However, he knew better to ask, to pry into business that wasn't strictly important. Tanya was a private person, and though Vincent seemed eager to share anything that crossed his mind, that didn't make it right to bypass Tanya's concerns to learn something that had no basis on his ability to care for a child. That, and even only after a month, Simon had learned that Tanya's word was law. Vincent's was more of a gentle suggestion.

"It's still beneficial to clean," was the best reply Simon could come up with, and it made Vincent laugh.

"Yeah, yeah. Tanya tells me that too, but," he shrugged again. "We'll get it done eventually. Some progress is better than no progress, right?"

Simon did have to agree with that, though he could've made far more progress on his own. But, Tanya had insisted that he not be allowed to do it on his own, because surely there was something in the room with value. Nothing had any monetary value, not that Simon could find, so he wasn't entirely sure what she was talking about. To him, it was all furniture, statues, old china. Vincent seemed to think differently; Tanya definitely did.

"I'll take the plate back downstairs," Simon reached out and took it. "Please, start without me."

Simon stepped out of the room, and this time, pulled the door completely shut. Somewhere in his crawling around, Vincent had managed to open up a window, so the air flow wasn't so much a concern anymore. That, and Simon had real motive this time. Curiosity, really just the nature of an android. He wanted to compile information, wanted to know about the family he served, and there was a table set up in the hallway with family pictures on it. He traded the plate for a photograph, and looked over it, yellow LED blinking as he scanned it.

Rachel Wilks; 78, 1955-2033; Deceased.

Hector Wilks, 76, 1950-2026; Deceased.

Simon set the photograph back down in a hurry. Vincent's parents were both dead, and the wounds of his mother's death most likely still fresh. The remaining photographs were all of various places, various poses, but the same people. No one who Simon could've concluded to be Tanya's parents. So, he left that section bare, and retreated down the stairs to take care of the dish. On his way, he stole a glance into the living room to see if Tanya had finished, and. She hadn't so much as started. Against his better judgment, he approached the doorway.

"Would you like me to fetch you something else, Ma'am?" he asked.

Tanya jolted, looked up at him with stiff shoulders in a way that was almost identical to the way Mikaela did when she was startled. The likeness was striking, almost amusing, for how much Mikaela looked like her father. But, the look Tanya gave him wasn't angry, just. Exhausted, maybe. Simon couldn't quite place it.

"Coffee would be great," her voice came out in a jumbled heap, weak.

When Simon brought her the mug of coffee, she stopped him for a moment with her fingers around his wrist. Nails, digging into his skin, but he couldn't feel pain.

"I'm going to have to go into the office tomorrow," she told him, rubbing her thumb and forefinger over her eyes. "Take Mikaela out for lunch when you pick her up, wherever she wants."

"Of course, Ma'am."

Tanya let him go, and he straightened up, adjusted his shirt.

 

September 16th, 2034-

Promptly at eleven, Simon was ringing the doorbell to Gale's house, stepping back, and waiting patiently with his hands folded in front of him. A beat passed before the door opened up, and Simon was looking at another android. Female, with the name Monika flashing on her blouse, dark pointed eyes, and darker hair twirled up into a braid around the crown of her head. She gave Simon a passing glare, looking over his uniform before deciding he was, also, an android.

"What business do you have here?" her voice high, but strict with hard vowels.

"I've come to pick up Mikaela," he replied. There was a moment of silence, twiddling information between them to verify his claim, and Monika nodded. She stepped aside, door at her back, and gestured for Simon to enter.

"Mikaela neglected to inform me of her pick-up time. I shall fetch her," Monika closed the door behind Simon and left him standing in the middle of the living room while she hurried upstairs.

The house was smaller than the Wilks', Simon noticed, and much less ornate, decorative. But it felt warm. There was a mess of clothes on the couch, pictures askew on the mantle where the TV hung above. Plants in half a state of dying, plates left out on the coffee table. It felt so lived in. The carpet had stains, the TV with dust streaks on the screen. Simon found himself feeling relaxed, even as he stood with hunched shoulders in the middle of the room—unsure of what to do with himself while he waited.

Not long of a wait, as there was a ruckus from up the stairs moments later. Simon jumped when the first crash sounded and stepped over to glance up the stairs. Mikaela was running down the hallway, laughing, hair flying freely, and shirt hiked up over her stomach. She bounded down one step, two steps, then launched herself into the air, arms out wide. Simon reacted with pinpoint precision and caught her before her feet even hit the ground, so she in turn wrapped her arms and legs around his middle.

"Simon! I'm late!" she was still laughing, speaking through a wide and happy grin.

"Yes, you are. Don't do that," he warned, but his scolding was gentle as he set her down. Monika had a different idea, and was storming down the stairs directly after, shaking her finger in the air. In her other hand, she had Mikaela's fully packed bag.

"Do not do that, Miss Wilks! When you fall and hurt yourself, will not be my fault, you hear? I tell you time and time, do not jump down stair case!"

Mikaela didn't let it stop her from smiling, but her laughing did falter out. "Sorry, Monika," a little giggle as she took her backpack. Even Simon had to chuckle a little. Monika was not a child care unit, she was a household cleaning unit. Really, a robotic maid. She wasn't programmed to deal with children, but Mikaela seemed to find her strictness amusing. Even Gale, who came toddling down the stairs a few seconds later, was smiling. Smiling which didn't last long, as Mikaela and Gale were immediately grabbing onto each other’s arms and letting out a high-pitched wail, to which Monika only groaned.

"You care for kids," she pointed at Simon. "I have house to clean."

Simon stammered, but the refusal never came out. Not before Monika skulked into the kitchen to begin work on the massive pile of dishes that Gale and Mikaela had gone through overnight. So, with that, Simon turned back to the two girls. Both of which were still wailing.

"I don't want to go!"

"Don't leave!"

Simon took to one knee, put his hand on Mikaela's shoulder, like he knew would calm her, "Mrs. Wilks has requested I take you for lunch, Mikki. Perhaps Gale might come as well? I was given no monetary stipulations, this time."

Gale and Mikaela shared a look. A devious look, then Gale ripped herself away to dash into the kitchen. The conversation was hushed, quick, and Monika reappeared with her arms crossed and a frown on her face.

"I will allow. Parents not home. Must be back immediately after, you hear? No lateness, Gale," and she twirled around again, back to the dishes.

"It's settled then. Go on and get dressed, we'll wait for you," Simon urged, and Gale gave a hurried nod before rushing up to her room.

While she was gone, Mikaela inched closer to Simon and took his fingers in her hand again, squeezing gently. He looked down at her, smiling.

"Thank you, Si," she muttered. He wrapped his fingers around hers. Squeezed just a little tighter than he needed to.

They had fast food for lunch, while Simon sat by and watched over. It wasn't normal, per se, for an android to be carting around children like this, though that wasn't to say the establishment was anti-android. He was just the only android there, and it seemed like a meal outing was supposed to be more of a family thing. Friends, maybe, and Simon was sure that was the label Mikaela was giving them. Still, he was a sore thumb in his uniform. He kept his eyes solely on Mikaela and Gale, watching the two chatter back and forth and play with the toys that came with their meals. Afterward, Simon took Gale straight home. Monika didn't say anything, just accepted Gale back into the house with a tight grip on her shoulders. One Simon would have almost called protective, if he knew better, but he didn't mention anything. Not to Monika, in curiosity, and not to Mikaela. The drive home was quiet.

The house was silent, when they arrived. Simon watched as Mikaela's face fell when she realized what the lunch outing had been. A preemptive apology. Nothing that could quite make up for the white noise of an empty house, and Mikaela slid her hand from Simon's to let it slump at her side. There were no words she could spare before she started for the stairs, hanging onto the banister with weak little fingers as she climbed. While Tanya had certainly told Simon that she would be gone, he hadn't expected her to leave while they were away—while Simon had the car. Something must have been so urgent that she took the bus or had someone pick her up.

"Mikki, if you need anything—"

"Yeah," she cut him off, "I know," and she was gone, her door slammed shut behind her. There was a pang that shot through Simon's core, but he ignored it. There was nothing he could do, so he set about the list of chores he had, none of them done, and it was near evening already.

Vincent left his office once, that night, and it was to retreat upstairs to bed. He didn't eat dinner. Simon had served Mikaela fish sticks and corn, at her request, and left it sitting outside her door. She would not leave her room, but when he returned after seven, the plate was empty, and the cup nearly was. Simon considered it a small victory and picked up the dishes to begin the final load for the evening. After that, Simon was alone in a locked, dark house. On nights like these, he'd taken up the arm chair where he went into rest mode, for the night.

Except, the door opened, and the foyer light came on sometime after ten, which jolted Simon awake. It wasn't for danger so much as it was alertness, because the door wouldn't open for just anyone. And, after a moment of waiting, Tanya appeared in the doorway, underneath the light, looking more tired than she had that morning when Simon departed. They stared at each other for a long moment before Tanya decided to enter the living room—the light came on—and sit down on the couch.

"Water, Simon," her voice was harsh. Defeated.

Simon complied quickly and retrieved her a glass of water, three ice cubes, from the kitchen. He set it down on the coffee table, then resumed his seat in the arm chair. She hadn't seemed to mind his informal behavior.

"We're going to lose this case," she sighed, dropped her head into her hands. "Everyone's on edge. Did Mikaela have a nice time?"

"Yes, she did, Ma'am. She was rather upset to find you missing, however."

Tanya nodded weakly, "I know. It'll only get worse from here, though. We're short staffed, my partner's case load is doubling. I'll be busier, so you'll have to watch her."

"Of course."

She glanced over at Simon, who was sitting uncomfortably straight and unnaturally still, but regarding her with soft eyes. The smallest smile bloomed out on her lips, which Simon only then noticed were not their usual plum color. No makeup, her hair left undone for the day. Bags under her eyes.

"It really did used to be easier, you know. But my parents wanted to retire in Rome, of all places," she rolled her eyes. "They haven't seen Mikaela since she was five, and well. Vince's stuck around as long as they could. Now we're stuck with you."

"You really should rest, Ma'am. You're putting a lot of stress on yourself. Allow me to worry about the home, and Mikaela."

Tanya opened her mouth, like she was about to protest, but. She shut it a second later in favor for taking a gulp of the water. "I guess I'm only human after all," and a bitter laugh that followed. She left the half empty glass of water there and retired for the evening. The lights all shut off again, leaving Simon to sit there in the dark. All that remained was the bright blue glow of the triangle on his chest, the armband on his right bicep.

 

October 14th, 2034-

At the very first second of October fourteenth, Simon was shaking Mikki awake. This had been the plan from the beginning. Tanya and Vincent had planned it out carefully, because regardless of their planning, Tanya had been called in for weekend work and wouldn't be present for the majority of the day. Vincent was rolling straight into Midterm season, but it wasn't something he couldn't set aside. Still, there were plans to go to Gale's house for the weekend too. This was the only way that the three of them could celebrate together, so, Simon was instigating phase one. Mikaela had to get up, and she wasn't cooperating. Instead, she groaned, batted away at Simon's hand, and rolled onto her other side.

"Mikki," Simon pressed again. "Happy Birthday, wake up."

Another groan, but she peeked a quick glance at Simon. It was mornings like this, nights, that she hated the glowing uniform. She'd asked Tanya not long ago why Simon had to wear it, why they couldn't just dress him in normal clothes. It had been a quickly changed topic, but something Simon hadn't forgotten.

"Come on. Your parents are waiting downstairs, quickly now," he pulled back her blankets just to give a sense of urgency. She, however, curled up her legs and folded her arms.

"Noooo. Let me sleep," she sniffed, ready to pour out crocodile tears the moment Simon pushed a little further.

"Mikki, I will carry you," he grinned.

That seemed to do the trick, and Mikaela was pulling herself out of bed immediately. She dropped to her feet and let out another high-pitched groan. While carrying had been too much, she did grasp around Simon's waist for dear life, to keep her standing, and he put a hand on her shoulder. Guided her out of her room and down the staircase, where all the lights were on. Vincent was whistling in the kitchen, flipping pancakes restaurant style and tapping his foot along to his own rhythm. Tanya was gathering plates and cups ready, the orange juice already sitting out on the table. Right next to an open, half empty bag of chocolate chips, which seemed to wake Mikaela up immediately.

"Pancakes? Chocolate?" she let go of Simon to toddle into the kitchen.

"Mhm. Just for you, bug," Vincent gave her a wink, flipped another pancake.

"We've got sausage too, no eggs. Just as you requested," Tanya filled in the rest, and was already serving the sausage onto the plates. Her hair was down and curled around her shoulder. In the dim light of the kitchen, she looked well rested for a change.

Mikaela squealed, jumped up and down, and rushed to sit at the table. Her place mat was already set up, with silverware, and Simon moved around the counter bar to assist with serving. He poured the orange juice while Vincent finished off the last few pancakes. He had made a horrifyingly tall stack of them, enough to put someone into a pleasant food coma. Two per plate, though. At first. Tanya made sure. She and Simon worked on setting up the table, while Vincent went ahead and made himself comfortable. Mikaela had gotten to sit at the head of the table, and he was happy to sit at her right.

"Happy birthday, bug," he ruffled her hair.

"Yes, happy birthday," Tanya set the plate down in front of her, and Simon supplied the orange juice. Then Vincent. Tanya sat down and waited for Simon to bring her breakfast.

"Will there be anything else?" he asked, and before Tanya could dismiss him—

"Say! Sit!" Mikaela threw up her arms as she screamed, then pointed to the free chair at the other end of the table. Simon stood awkwardly for a moment, unsure of what to do with his hands, and looked to Tanya for instructions.

"Come on, it won't hurt. One meal," Vincent held up his finger to emphasize that number. In the scheme of things, it was nothing. And, Tanya sighed. With two sets of puppy eyes staring at her, there was absolutely no disagreeing, so she gave in with a reluctant nod.

"Sit down, Simon." She gestured to the same empty chair.

"Of course," and he complied. "And. Happy birthday, Mikki," he said again.

She beamed, and one long pour of maple syrup later, was digging into her breakfast without hesitation. It as a quiet breakfast, and Simon sat there idly. He tried not to stare, but there wasn't much for him to look at. Instead, he did take a moment to glance at Mikaela, who was happily stuffing her cheeks with pancakes. When she wanted more, Simon retrieved and served them for her. Vincent and Tanya declined, but Mikaela had thirds. Through the mouthful of pancakes, she babbled on happily about a dream she had been having when Simon woke her up. Again, about how annoying she thought his uniform was in the dark, but Tanya shushed her on the matter. Still, when his eyes met hers, she winked, and he gave her the smile she was looking for.

"Come, we've got presents in the living room," when midnight breakfast was done, Tanya lifted Mikaela from her chair and set her on the floor. "Simon, dish—"

"He has to come!" Mikaela interrupted, and she dashed across the room to grab onto Simon. Arms tightly wrapped around his waist and face buried into his hip.

Once again, defeated, Tanya sighed: "Alright, alright. It can come," and she turned on her heel, bare feet padding across the hallway and into the living room. Mikaela cheered and let go, only to grab Simon's hand and forcibly drag him out of the kitchen. Except, he was following willingly. Nearly tripped over his own feet to keep up with her pace, but they made it into the living room. Tanya was already perched on the edge of the couch cushions, trying to stifle a yawn behind her hand. She hadn't actually gone to bed yet, neither had Vincent.

"Presents!" Mikaela plopped down on the couch, folded her legs up and leaned forward in her excitement. Tanya handed her the first, well wrapped box, as Vincent took his seat curled up in the armchair.

She ripped off the bow, and then tore into the packaging like it was nothing. No sense in saving it, nor the box, and she tore at the flimsy cardboard to reveal—her face dropped almost immediately. Out of the box came a light blue top, one with a decorative back. Underneath it was a pair of black jeans and a pair of shorts with flowers embroidered on the leg. Clothing.

"Clothes. Yay," she grimaced. Both Tanya and Vincent attempted, valiantly, to stifle their laughter at Mikaela's response.

"Try the next one," Vincent urged. This box was little, and her face scrunched up when she looked at it. She pulled it out, a blue little collar with a bell and a flower charm on it.

"What's this?"

"Oh," Tanya reached out for it. "Oh, that's not for you! I'm so sorry, it must have gotten mixed up," she set the little trinket down and stood. She took Mikaela by the hand and lead her over behind the couch, slow enough for Vincent and Simon to follow suit. Behind the couch, there, was an unassumingly large gift box.

"Go on," Vincent said, making himself comfortable leaning up against the back of the couch. He crossed his arms and wore a cheeky little grin, "open it up, bug." He turned his grin on Simon, nudged him, like somehow Simon was supposed to know what was in the box. He didn't. All he knew was what Mikaela knew—the box was big and making noise.

She reached for it tentatively, gripping the obvious sides of the lid like she was almost afraid to pull it open. To see whatever was inside. One gulp, and she looked at Simon for reassurance. It was certainly not his place to deny her, so he stepped forward and squatted beside her, hand on her shoulder. Together, then, he put his hand on the lid too, and they lifted. Secrecy died immediately, when the cat literally jumped out of the box. A real cat, small, with a long windy tail and twitchy ears. An orange tabby cat.

"Kitty!" Mikaela screeched. She immediately went to grab at it, but Tanya kept her back.

"You have to give him time to adjust, okay? No grabbing just yet. He needs a name, too. You know, like you named the other one," she nodded back towards Simon.

Mikaela beamed, nodded, and reached out to stroke that cat along his back. "I want to name him Butter."

Which. Was fine. Vincent laughed, and Tanya's lips twitched into a wide, tired smile again. It was no coincidence they'd just finished having buttery pancakes, and now here was a new addition to the family. Butter the cat.

"Vince, the collar," Tanya reached her hand out for it. Vincent responded immediately by swerving around the couch to grab it, and he handed it over to her. She attached the collar to Butter, then let him to. "He'll need to wander for a bit, to learn his new home. In the meantime," she stopped for a yawn, "we should probably get back to bed."

Mikaela laughed, but she certainly agreed with the statement. Butter was already off to do his exploring, so there wasn't much to be done. The clothing she had received would have to be washed. The dishes, the living room, kitchen. All of it cleaned. Simon had at least a moment of reprieve, though, when Mikaela moved to hang onto him again. Her eyes closed.

"I'll take care of her," Simon stood, took her with him in his arms. "You two can go on, if you please."

There was no argument, though Tanya looked a little put out. They were all in agreement that sleep was the next order of business; Mikaela was already half asleep on Simon's shoulder. He left first, up the stairs and back into Mikaela's room. By the time she hit the pillows, she was asleep again, and followed by a light, little meow. Simon turned to watch as Butter rubbed against the door frame. He took his sweet time with the touch, arching his back and letting out another little mewl. All before making his way across the room to hop up onto the bed, spin around, and find his place curled up at the foot of the bed. Simon spared him a smile. Gave him a scratch on his back before he pulled the covers up over Mikki's shoulder.

When he left, Simon left her door cracked just an inch, so Butter would be able to get out. By the time Mikki woke up, the house would be ready for Butter to really explore. A litter box, a cat tower that Vincent had purchased, and the smaller one to match which would go in Mikki's room. That, and toys. But, for now, if Butter wanted to roam. Simon wouldn't keep him confined, no more than he'd confine himself, and it was time for him to get to work. The dishes, the kitchen, living room. The new cat things. He'd have to keep quiet, but the work was never really done.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are super appreciated! I'd love to hear what you guys think.  
> [Check Out My Tumblr If You Want To See More](https://tantumuna.tumblr.com)  
> 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hhhhh and here is chapter 3. I don't know what an upload schedule is leave me alone. This chapter turned out a little longer because Andy, from my simkus server, wanted to read all about how to make thanksgiving dinner, so I wrote a little more on that than I was intended. As always, shout out to all the losers in there for keeping me going. Chapter 4 isn't actually started yet, but I already know what I need to type.
> 
> It's just a matter of typing. Also, if anyone sees any typos, let me know. I have absolutely no concept of how to edit correctly, and I don't have a beta reader. Thanks!

October 31st, 2034-

Snow had started falling early that morning, and everything tumbled down with it, as the day went on. Vincent was late. No phone call, no message, not even an email from him since that morning when he'd said goodbye to Tanya. Tanya, who was frantically running about the house in a desperate search for her bag. Her phone was ringing in that high-pitched chirp it did when it was the office calling. Annoying, just annoying enough that she had to answer it—only she was too busy losing all of her materials to answer the phone. Simon had to give up helping her look, because Mikaela was wailing at the top of the stairs. They'd only been home for fifteen minutes, and hell had completely broken loose. Mikaela couldn't find her costume. Gale was going to be late. Lynn was going to _even_ later, then Gale. As in, fifteen minutes into trick-or-treating late. Then Tanya. Tanya, who had finally found her bag and answered the phone in a near shout.

"Simon, get down here!" three exact minutes later. He left Mikaela, snotty and crying on her bed, to rush down the stairs.

"Yes?"

"I have to go back to the office. Gale's little friends can still come over, but that's it. I have no idea when I'll be back, so make sure they eat and get to bed—get home, whatever they're doing. She still has school tomorrow."

"Yes, Ma'am." Simon stumbled as she pushed past him. She didn't spare another word, not until she reached the door and was hastily putting on her coat. Then, she stopped and turned to jab her finger in Simon's direction.

"If _he_ calls you, I want a message, immediately."

"Yes, Ma'am."

The door slammed shut, hard enough to shake the house, and left Simon standing there. After a moment, his LED returned to blue, and he hurried up the stairs back to Mikaela. She had almost stopped crying, but there was still snot dripping from her nose when he found her, standing at the edge of the bed and looking at her costume. Somewhere, between the shouting and the yelling, she had found it. She was going to be a super hero this year, which Simon had of course affirmed it was a good choice. He hadn't known what she'd been previously, or what the other choices were, but she lit up anytime he praised her. Now, he would have to be the bearer of bad news.

"Your mother has—" and he stopped. "Hold on," he stepped back outside her room. She looked at him strangely but didn't follow.

"Hello, Wilks Residence," Simon answered the phone, arms folded as he leaned into the wall.

_Hey, didn't we install caller ID or something? It's me!_ Vincent broke off into a weak laugh.

"Oh, Vincent. Hello. What can I do for you?"

_Um, yeah. I'm gonna be late. Super late. Tanya there?_

"No. She just left for the office."

_Drat. Okay. I got this—I can work with this. Um… You wouldn't be able to take the girls out tonight would you?_ He broke off into a muffled curse; Simon heard something thump.

"Mrs. Wilks informed me that their plans for the evening were canceled," Simon kept his voice hushed for that part. He hadn't told Mikaela yet.

_Yeah, that's garbage. Take them out, Christ's sake. I'll be home before nine, m'kay? If Kaela wants to stay up, let her._

Simon stood there in silence for a moment. Contradicting orders.

_Simon? You still there?_

"Yes."

_Listen, don't know what your head's going through, but just take them out. Tanya's mad she's so busy that she can't do mom shit, that's all. She can't have fun, so she thinks nobody can. It's fine._

"Alright," the decision was made. "I'll take them."

_Great, thanks. Don't be mad at her, okay?_

"Vincent, I can't—"

_Yeah, whatever. See ya when I get home!_

Phone call: ended. Simon sniffed and slipped back into Mikaela's room. She was in a state of half disarray, half undressed, and half stuck in her costume. A fond smile sneaked its way onto his face as he closed the distance, pulling her arm free and helping her get her head through the top. When she popped out, she was looking better. No more snot, but her eyes were still puffy, and her hair was a mess.

"Your mother has gone back to the office," Simon told her. "However, your father has instructed that I take you and your friends out for the holiday."

Mikaela giggled, "You can't go out without a costume, silly."

"Mikaela—I have to wear this uniform. It's required of me," but she was already pulling away, fixing her clothes as she went to rifle through her closet. "Mikki—"

"Shush," she couldn't contain her laughter, "you can't just go as an android for Halloween."

"Watch me," he teased back. Mikaela rolled her eyes. She padded towards Simon with something behind her back, which he didn't see. Only felt, as she plopped the headband over his hair, tucked behind his ears. Then, the doorbell.

"I'll get it!" she shrieked, dashed out of the room before Simon could register what she was doing. He stood up and dusted off his pants, smiling, and moved over to her mirror to look at himself. He looked nothing short of ridiculous, but Mikaela wanted him to wear it. A cat ear headband. If she wanted it, it was as good as an order, and he wouldn't dare touch it. He heard laughter, then, which tore him from his own image.

"Gale's here! Early!" Mikaela was shouting up the stairs. Simon followed the sound of her voice, to the top of the stair case, and looked down. Gale was already all done up in her costume, a big grin on her face from underneath the brim of her witch's hat. It was the only part of her costume that looked bought—everything else was a crude mismatch of closet clothing made to look like a witch's dress. That, and she had a pillow case in her hand instead of a bag, like the one Tanya bought for Mikaela. Gale was still smiling, brimming with pure happiness.

"You look funny, Simon!" she told him.

He smiled. He knew.

"We should draw whiskers on him. He needs whiskers—he's taking us trick-or-treating," Mikaela explained. Grabbed Gale by the hand and tugged her on up the stairs after Simon, who, was already opening the door to Mikaela's room. The two girls bounded in, and with an empty house, Simon left the door open.

"Simon," Mikaela was digging through her drawers, "we're gonna draw whiskers on you."

"Of course," he took up a spot sitting on the floor, leaning against the bed, as Mikki pulled out several different color markers. Washable, skin safe markers, because she was a child. And, Simon hoped they came off android skin as well. He couldn't rightly refuse her, and she was having too much fun, anyway.

"Gale, did you eat before you arrived?" he asked. Mikki was already popping the lid off a blue marker.

"Yeah, Monika gave me a snack," she said, always Monika. She sat by and picked at the fraying hem of her dress while Simon got his whiskers.

Butter took this time to make his entrance. He had turned out to be a quiet, independent cat, but still incredibly friendly. He enjoyed the quiet snuggles by the fireplace, sleeping at the foot of Mikaela's bed, and he preferred Tanya has a companion to Vincent. That aside, he never had accidents, ate all his food, and had only hacked one hairball on the carpet. Simon had spent a good twenty minutes working that out. Butter was fine and liked Gale just as much as he liked Mikki. He meowed for Gale's attention, and she gave it, in abundance, while Mikaela finished with the whiskers and a heart shape on his nose.

"There, we're ready to go," she declared.

"You're not ready, we need to get your hair fixed and the headband on. Come, now," Simon pushed himself up from the floor, adjusted his clothing, and collected the rest of Mikaela's costume from the floor. She followed him, without pause, into the bathroom, while Gale had taken to picking Butter up and stroking along his back.

When they returned moments later, Mikaela was in full super hero costume, with her hands on her hips and eyes positively glowing with pride. It was that childlike excitement that Simon had felt himself so drawn to, and he could never help the fond little smile that peaked forward on his lips. Gale was popping right off the floor, leaving Butter abandoned to curl up near the edge of the bed, and the two were holding on each other's arms again.

"I love your costume!" Gale shrieked.

"Yours is so cool," Mikaela, at the same time. Mikaela hadn't noticed the real state of Gale's costume, and Simon hoped that she never would. Not with age, not with time. Because being blind to that sort of thing made a good person—not that Simon had protocol to tell him what that meant.

"Downstairs, come now. Do you have any word from Lynn?" he asked, pressing his hands into their backs to urge them along and out the door. While they walked, Mikaela fished around for her phone and batted at the screen for a moment.

"She says she'll meet us at the O'Brien house," her eyebrows were furrowed together. "We'll probably have to wait—" they groaned in unison.

Simon scoffed at her, "Now, now. At least she's coming. When was the last time you saw Lynn?"

"Well if they hadn't _gone to China—_ " Mikaela was about to whine, but Simon just patted her on the head. It stopped her short, a conversation they'd had before. If they had the time to fly to Rome, Mikaela wouldn't have thought twice about missing school for a month.

"So, uh, I thought your mom was taking us," Gale cut off, changed the topic to something not so much less sensitive, just different.

Mikaela slumped, took it like a trooper, "Yeah, but she got busy. Dad didn't even come home, so that's stupid," rolling her eyes like she didn't care about the state of things.

"Besides! It means Simon gets to take us," and she was hanging off his arm to make her point. He didn't flinch, just smiled at her and kept her from falling to the ground.

"My pleasure. Now," it wasn't quite time to begin. Trick-or-treating was a city ordinated event, and wouldn't officially commence until six, "would you like to watch TV while we wait? I have a few things I need to finish up before we go, in the meantime."

"Boooooring," Mikaela complained, but it didn't stop her from wandering into the living room, Gale at her tail. Simon stood idly in the foyer area, turned the television on from where he stood, and let them sort it out from there. In turn, he went into the dining room to pick up the mess left from the small mean he'd prepared for Mikaela earlier. While he worked, he sent a message to Tanya to inform her that Vincent had called, what time he would be arriving home. As he expected, an automated "busy at the office" message returned.

Six o'clock exactly, and not a second later, Mikaela and Gale were dashing into the kitchen, hollering as they tended to do. Even if Simon had perfect track of time, there was no way he would able to forget. He should have, technically, gotten them started already. But that sort of decision wasn't his to make, and they had not come in a second earlier. Mikaela had her bag, the tag still stuck into the handle, and Gale had her pillow case.

"I suppose that's time, then," he set aside the final stack of dishes. The two of them were practically vibrating with excitement as Simon rounded the corner of the counter, followed them out through the dining room and into the foyer. Simon had to stop to turn off all the lights, but Mikaela was already pushing out the door. Gale, on the other hand, waited patiently for Simon to finish, and when he approached the doorway, she just looked at him. Head dipped ever slightly.

"Gale?" he offered her his hand, and he took it immediately.

Outside, there were already kids out walking. Most of them with their parents, an older sibling. Simon straightened his collar and closed the door behind them. Mikaela was already waiting at the front gate, hands bunched up by her chin with her excitement to get going. She refused Simon's hand when they arrived, so he opened the door without further pause. At least she knew well enough not to go dashing off, and kept her excitement contained into her finger tips when they started walking. Taking a right first, because that was the way to the O'Brien house down the street where they would meet Lynn. From there, Simon had a layout of the neighborhood, and if he needed any further information, a simple scan of the environment would do. Mostly, he found as Gale let go of his had to dash up and join Mikaela, to keep an eye on the children.

At the first house, Simon stood at the end of the driveway while Mikaela yanked Gale on by her hand to get their candy. He watched them, the blinking yellow on his temple giving away his speculation about the situation. This wasn't something he did, reasonably thinking. He was programmed for childcare, and that usually didn't pertain to escorting them through a neighborhood during the late hours of the night. It was a nice neighborhood, he'd figured that much out; the chances of something dangerous happening were slim. The probability remained, and that was what he was focusing on. Ever alert, but the two came skipping back down just so, their first bits of candy in their bags.

"Next house, come on!" Mikaela shouted.

"The faster we go, the longer we'll have to wait for Lynn," Simon warned, but it fell on deaf ears. Simon shook his head, that same fond smile back on his lips, and he followed them at his own leisurely pace. As long as they were within his sight, or even scanner range, they could run as freely as they pleased.

The second house was giving out large, king sized candy bars, and Mikaela was absolutely giddy with excitement when she showed Simon. The caretaker side took over the minute he took a look at it, scanning it, and he warned her that she should ration that out over a few days. The shrug and eye roll she gave him was absolutely indicative of someone who was going to ignore his concerns and do what she wanted. The third house went by without incident, and the fourth house was the O'Brien House. Where, much to their surprise, Lynn was already waiting there. Her jet-black hair all done up in twin buns on either side of her head. A pink, traditional looking dress, made of silk.

"Lynn!" Mikaela, and Gale, screamed as they approached her. The three of them hugged, squealing, and Simon just stood by and watched them. Other children, families, stepped aside into the grass to bypass their friendship display.

"Whoa," Lynn was beaming, "who is that?"

Mikaela's eyes positively brightened, "That's Simon! He's my android, isn't he cool?!"

Lynn giggled, "Did he come with the…?" and she pointed to her own head, to make her point. Mikaela laughed and explained—it was just his Halloween costume, since he refused to change out of the uniform. Which, he didn't bother to correct, because Lynn seemed to know better.

Lynn was older than Mikaela and Gale. She had turned fourteen that year, whereas Mikaela and Gale were both eleven—Mikaela was the youngest. Tanya had a friend from the office, who had subsequently turned out to be Lynn's mother, and the friendship had begun as almost obligatory. Only, now they were inseparable. The group of them, even when Lynn took her long trips away. She always came back, and they always had things to shout about—even if they had school tomorrow.

They got their candy from Mr. O'Brien, who was a sweet old man with a red beard. He waved down at Simon, who waved back with a grin on his face. After that, it was without consequence. Simon walked behind the three and urged them to move over when they passed another family, but they would always fan back out into a line after that. House after house, until Mikaela didn't even want to hold her own bag anymore. Simon complied, as always, and by the time they had made their circle through the neighborhood, back towards the house, he was holding Gale as well. While Mikaela was the youngest, Gale was the smallest. She was short and skinny, and weighed less than what she should have—by Simon's analysis. It made her easy to carry, however concerning.

Until, they were rounding the final corner, and there was a thump against the back of Simon's head. It didn't hurt—he had no concept of pain. All he knew was he felt something, and then heard the familiar sound of a soda can hitting the paved sidewalk. Simon stopped, turned, and set Gale down as he did. There were three of them, who, he didn't know. It was dark, and one of them was wearing a hat far enough down to nearly cover his eyes. The other one, the one Simon was more concerned about, had a bat in his hand.

"Look at this—tin can playing mommy. Bunch of damn rich folks who can afford to just pawn of their kids."

"Hey—" Mikaela started, but Simon put his arm out in front of her to stop her, then eyed her. From where she stood, she could see the glowing red LED. She didn't have to know what it meant to feel the dread.

"Go inside," Simon urged her, "take Gale and Lynn inside."

Mikaela backed away slowly and toddled back to them. When Simon took a step back, the ones who had approached him—they took a step forward. So, he stood there, until he heard the door to the house open, footsteps, and the door close. There wasn't time to acknowledge that the door should have been locked, it was only eight thirty, because they were walking towards Simon now with a renewed pace. His objective had been to make sure Mikaela was taken care of. That was his only objective. He didn't think past it, hadn't the capacity to think past it, and was now suffering the consequences of that one-track programming. He couldn't back up fast enough, and the gate was closed, and—

The first whack came down across his face. The man with the belt had red, sunken in, and unfocused eyes. But he was strong, and Simon collapsed back against the gate to try and keep himself steady. Searching, frantically, for the latch. He couldn't find it, couldn't move fast enough to avoid the second blow, which came hard across his chest. Like smashing an old desktop out in the front lawn, and one of them was laughing. Which stopped abruptly when the door opened again, the light flooding out onto the front porch, the lawn, and it didn't go away.

"Hey!" Simon recognized the voice. Followed by footsteps, the old work boots Vincent liked to wear, "what do you think you're doing?!"

They didn't stick around to answer.

"You think I won't call the cops?! Get out of here! I ever see you again, there's gonna be hell to pay!" Vincent shouted out after them, but the second they were out of sight, he unlatched the gate and grabbed onto Simon.

Simon, who's LED was still a bright, horrified red, collapsed backwards into Vincent. Somehow, against the straining, Vincent managed to keep him standing long enough to get him back into the house. The door shut, locked, double locked—not just the electronic one, but the manual latch they'd always left on it for security. It didn't solve anything, though, and Vincent dropped Simon onto the couch.

"Hey—hey, look at me," Vincent's voice was soft. A calming voice, the same one he used on Tanya when work had been just a little stressful. "Let me see."

Simon had it in him still to sit properly on the couch, Vincent half kneeling half squatting on the floor in front of him, between his knees and the coffee table, with a hand on the undamaged part of his face to try and coax him into moving. It was an order, ever gentle as it was, and Simon couldn't refuse. The damage wasn't bad, nothing that couldn't be easily fixed, but his skin had peeled back, and half of his face was a ghastly white now.

"You're gonna be alright," Vincent urged, and Simon didn't miss the way his thumb dragged over his cheek. "We'll get you in tomorrow, okay?"

"It's minor damage, nothing vital was hit, and—"

"Don't give me your diagnostic report. I'll cancel classes and take care of you, hm?" the car was essentially free reign for Vincent. Tanya carpooled during the week.

And, Simon couldn't refuse when Vincent made his choice, so he nodded.

"Hey, no blood, right? That's a good thing," Vincent patted Simon on the cheek once more before standing up. "Everything else okay? Besides your face, I mean."

"No damage elsewhere."

"Great. When Kaela ran in and told me, I came out immediately. Glad I did. Why don't you rest for the night? Let me take care of the girls and their candy trade."

"Vincent, I assure you that I'm perfectly capable—"

"Don't care. Rest," he was already walking away, waving his hand in the air like it was going to shut Simon up. And, it did, unfortunately. Simon, left with no other recourse, did as he was told.

 

November 1st, 2034-

Vincent waited in an uncomfortable plastic chair the entire time while Simon was being repaired. He had an electronic book with him and passed the couple of hours engrossed in a good book, one ear bud in, and music playing quietly in the background. It was enough to drown out the rest of the noise of the CyberLife store, until he was greeted by the only human employee there, to tell him the repairs were done, and he could take Simon home. Simon came out a moment later, looking as though the events of last night hadn't took place. Vincent smiled at him.

"Looking good as new there," he had his hands back on Simon's face, to turn his head one way and then other, just to get a good look. "Perfect."

"Everything is in working order," Simon agreed.

"There you go with that stupid diagnostic crap. Don't want to hear it," before Simon could comment, Vincent was already walking towards the front door and gesturing for Simon to follow him.

"When Kaela was six," he started, on the way to the car, "she broke her arm. Had to take her to the emergency room. She cried and cried the entire time she was there, but they gave her this neon blue cast, and we all got to sign it."

Simon listened dutifully. As they approached the car, Vincent had the door open for them, and as he had on the way down to the store, insisted Simon sit in the front with him. So, he did—sat in the passenger seat as uncomfortably stiff as he could manage.

"Afterwards, you know, to calm her down, we took her out for ice cream. Tanya and me. I'd take you but," and he looked at Simon when he laughed, "you don't eat."

"If you would like some, the extra stop is not an issue."

Vincent laughed again, heartier this time, "You're always so stiff. Loosen up. I know Tanya can be a hard ass sometimes, but I try not to be."

He started the car up after that, and paid mind to stare directly at Simon, who's shoulders were still hunched, and eyes adverted out the window. If Vincent had half a mind, he might have even thought he saw a red tint to Simon's cheeks, which was certainly new. Still, he couldn't contain another bout of laughter, which had Simon stiffening up even more. Knees pressed together, hands wound up in his lap.

"You know what? Let's get some ice cream. We'll bring some home for Kaela and Tanya, how's that sound?" Vincent messed with the monitor on the dashboard, giving the car new instructions.

"Of course," Simon muttered.

 

November 23rd, 2034-

Tanya had exactly three days of vacation, to spend at home while Mikaela was on break, while Vincent was on break. She had made it painfully clear, through gentle words and seething, poisonous glares, that she would have nothing to do with the preparation of Thanksgiving Dinner. Absolutely nothing. Not from the planning, to the shopping, to the cooking. Which, since Vincent had never seen the inside of a grocery store, left it entirely up to Simon. He had spent the week planning, checking, and revising the menu. Tanya wasn't going to help, but she was going be the final say. Following, he had shopped ahead of time, and gone to the store that morning to pick up a few extra things Tanya had requested.

Mikaela was perched up on the bar counter waiting for Simon to return, and she had popped up onto her knees, elbows on the marble, head in her hands. He looked at her for a brief moment, then started unpacking the bags. Tanya had requested brownies, molten, with chocolate frosting. She was stressed, needed a fix, and Simon was no one to refuse her. That being said, all he had in the bag were various chocolate items, some cheap napkins for the event, and milk. He expected Mikaela to be interested—she absolutely adored chocolate. Just like her mother. But, she seemed to have something different in mind.

"I want to help cook," was all she said.

Simon stared at her for a moment, "That's…not my decision to make."

She hummed, pursed her lips, and jumped off the stool. She dashed out into the living room, where Tanya was relaxed against the arm of the couch, sipping on a small glass of wine and watching the news roll by on the screen in front of her. One day off her feet, and she was responding well to it. When Mikaela bounded in and up onto the couch, she didn't so much as flinch. Just, set her wine glass on the table and shifted onto her back.

"Mom, mom," Mikaela all but threw herself into Tanya's lap.

"What is it?" the television volume lowered automatically.

"I want to help Simon cook food. Can I please?"

Her face fell immediately into a dark eyed frown. She moved Mikaela back to the floor and pushed herself up, then marched directly into the kitchen to slam—gently place—her hands on the counter.

"Mikaela _will not_ help cook dinner. Why would you give her that idea?"

Simon blinked, almost flinched, "I told her it wasn't my decision, Ma'am." He couldn't very well lie to her.

Her eyes narrowed, and just as she was about to say something, Vincent peeked his head through the doorway.

"Hey, you know it can't lie, so why bother yelling? Besides," and he swerved around to come into full view, "it wouldn't hurt to let Kaela help, would it?"

"I…well," Tanya sighed, pinched the bridge of her nose like it might help the situation. It didn't, and Vincent laughed. He swooped in to pick up Mikaela, pinched at her sides to make her giggle, and put an arm around Tanya's shoulders. She sighed, melted, and bumped her forehead into his shoulder.

"Simon'll take good care of her, yeah?" he looked at Simon expectantly.

"Of course."

"There, see?" Vincent was grinning wide. He set Mikaela down, so she could make her way over to where Simon was still, after ten minutes, trying to put the groceries away.

"Alright, alright. Simon, I trust you'll take care of things, then?"

"Of course," again. "I'll have everything prepared by seven, sharp."

"I look forward to it," Tanya waved herself off. When she had gone, Vincent released a heavy breath, crossed the distance to put a hand on Simon's shoulder and jostle him.

"Extra chocolate, please," he grinned, and Simon's lips twitched into their own little, dopey smile. Vincent left after that, leaving Mikaela latched onto Simon's hips again, and Simon just standing there with a hand full of chocolate chip bags. He didn't move until Mikaela kicked him, and then, he only laughed as she plopped onto the tile floor to rub her foot.

"You can't cook in your pajamas, Mikki. Go and get dressed, I'll find your apron."

That perked her up immediately, before the crocodile tears had even begun, and she was off in an instant. When she came back, not some five minutes later, Simon adorned her with her apron. The pocket on the front was in the shape of a cloud, and a rainbow burst forth from it over the rest of the apron: it had been a gift from one of Tanya's many business trips. Something to make the loneliness a little more bearable. And, it worked. Mikaela loved the apron, and every stain that the removing stick hadn't been able to work out.

"What do we do, what do we do?" Mikaela was bouncing up and down, her fists all balled up by her chin.

"First, we have to start the turkey. That will take the whole day… Nearly." He mulled over the numbers in his head. "It needs to start roasting, which you can't help with."

"Why not?" she folded her arms. Excitement dead, pouting. Simon ruffled her hair and took her by the hand, lead her out into the laundry room where they had a large cooler set up. He opened the lid, and she grimaced.

"I had to start it's brine last night. Do you want to touch that?" he asked, gently. She furiously shook her head. "That's what I thought. Let me get you started on something else. The potatoes, perhaps?" and he was leading her away before she could even reply. He was going to do his best to keep her away from the actual cooking part of the dinner. Not that she wouldn't be able to help, and he was sure she'd be able to stir things from time to time. It was simply the part of him made to fret about her safety. After the potatoes, he'd have her start on the gravy.

Some odd time later, Simon had the turkey stuffed and roasting. Mikaela was sitting up on the counter, with a bowl of only partially mashed potatoes. She'd been working at it for a while, and thankfully, they didn't require that much time to make. After the potatoes had boiled, she had all the time in the world to beat them into submission. Every so often, she had to stop to take breaks, to switch arms, and now, she was stopping to stare at Simon.

"How do you know what to do?" she asked.

"What do you mean?" next was the rolls, freshly baked.

"Like," she waved her hand, splattered potato into the back splash of the counter. Simon tried not to grimace. "Oops. Uh, like. The cooking. Mom used recipes."

"Oh," Simon said, like it was just an obvious point, and he'd missed it so stupidly. "Well, I use recipes too, I suppose."

"What?" her eyes went wide for a second. Simon had set dough to rise over night in the refrigerator, and he grabbed it while he thought over the best way to explain. He set it out on the counter, then fished around for a rolling pin. Rolls. The old-fashioned way.

"I was programmed with them," he decided to just say it, "when I was made. That way, I would be able to cook if it was required of me. I would say it's been required, yeah?" he grinned.

Mikaela's face dropped, then she smiled again, shyly. Every time Simon mentioned his own reality—that he was an android—Mikaela always looked a little strange. Like it was something she couldn't quite grasp. Didn't quite want to believe. As always, she ignored it, and went back to mashing out her frustrations on the potatoes.

"That's weird."

"It means I can give your mother a break. I don't find it weird at all," he replied, and genuinely meant it. Which felt strange, so he rolled out the dough with a little more intensity than he had intended.

It worked out in the end, because the rolls were well sized and fit perfectly onto the pan. They went into the top oven, whereas the turkey had the entire bottom oven to itself for the next half of eternity. Simon had no concept of impatience, but Mikaela was whining, cross legged on the counter, still with her half-mashed potatoes.

"Simon, this is hard. No more!" she held out the bowl, full arm’s length, and whimpered.

"Would you like to start the green beans for me?"

She grimaced. Simon laughed in return but crossed the room to take the bowl from her.

"It's a casserole. There's cheese in it, so I promise it'll be good." He began to mash the potatoes, and Mikaela watched in awe for a moment. He was finished within that moment and set the glass bowl back on the counter.

"Only you would think that cheese makes something good," she frowned. Simon just stared at her, unsure of what she meant. He shrugged it off and went to grab a pot.

"We're being lazy with the gravy, as per Vincent's request. It's," Simon sighed, "instant. So, I think you can handle that."

"Yes! Let me do it, let me," she reached out with grabby hands, but Simon kept things just out of reach.

"You cannot cook sitting on the counter. Let's get down, come on." She jumped down as he requested, complaining the whole way down and over to Simon.

She was stirring, slowly, standing on a stool while the pot cooked on the lowest possible temperature Simon could've set the stove to. And, he hadn't taken his eyes off her since she started. Even if it meant unevenly snapped green beans. It was a casserole—covered in cheese—nobody was going to know. Except Simon, but it was worth it if it meant Mikaela wouldn't hurt herself. He was leaned up against the counter, working entirely midair with as much as his two hands could reasonable work, when Vincent came padding into the kitchen. Vincent made himself a soda, diet, and stopped to watch.

"Looking good," he spoke with lips on the glass, peering over the edge of it. Simon glanced at him.

"She's learning." He just assumed, rightfully, that Vincent was watching Mikaela stir the gravy and not him popping green beans. Where Vincent was staring—it didn't really matter. It was a leery look, and Simon had to glance away.

"I'm impressed. You must be a good teacher. Good company, at least," Vincent laughed to himself.

Simon missed something and smiled, "I hope so."

Vincent laughed again and nodded, "Well, let us know when it's ready. News is getting pretty boring, but I don't even want to think about school right now."

"No! That's a bad word!" Mikaela shouted from her spot, and this time, Vincent snickered.

"School," he said.

"Dad!" Mikaela whirled around, and Simon all but tossed the bowl of green beans onto the counter in his haste to catch her before she fell. He'd seen her slip before she'd even noticed she was falling. He caught her. Green beans safe. Gravy on the floor. Mikaela up against his chest.

"Holy shi—Simon, Kaela," Vincent set his glass aside to go to them. Dropped down on the floor right beside them to take Mikaela, who was looking all but a little dazed. Her eyes were wide, and she was shaking, holding onto Simon with a vice grip. But, there was the faintest little hint of a smile on her face.

"That was cool," she whispered.

Vincent let out a sigh of relief, and Simon just sighed. He didn't have it left in him to scold her after that, so he just brushed her off and let her go. Once she had toddled off, Vincent reached out and brushed against Simon's cheek. Simon jumped, but when Vincent pulled his hand back, there was gravy on his thumb, and he was smiling.

"Gravy," he said.

Simon just nodded dumbly.

As per tradition, Vincent got to cut the turkey, when the three of them finally gathered in. Mikaela, clean of gravy, and Tanya, a little pink in the cheeks from the wine and newscast. What Vincent didn't serve, Simon helped with. It was a special occasion, so there was no such thing as a serving size, and Mikaela got as much as she wanted—all of it, drenched in gravy. Tanya was a bit more reserved about her desire to eat, but she took three rolls, where everyone else had one. Then, the amount of turkey Vincent piled on his plate was ridiculous. Nobody but him liked cranberry sauce, so he had a pre-made Deli container sitting next to his plate. All for him.

"Simon, stay!" Mikaela cheered.

"Ah," Tanya got the first word in. "It has something special to do, right?" she looked at him, expectantly.

Simon made an affirmative noise, "Dessert," he supplied. Mikaela buzzed and nodded, then set out to eating her potatoes. She insisted that she made them, and nobody corrected her. She'd boiled the potatoes, which was really where it counted. Supposedly. Tanya and Vincent praised her for her efforts, and Tanya was not told about Mikaela's slip.

An hour later, on the dot, Simon was swerving his way back out of the kitchen with the brownies he'd promised. The original ingredients for pie were left unattended and forgotten about in the cupboard, in the fridge, in turn for a chocolate infestation for which nobody had actually saved room. But the smell was divine. Even with plates only half empty, there was no pause before they made room for a brownie on the plate. Simon served Mikaela first, as was customary, because she smiled the widest and held her plate up. Then, Vincent, who leaned in a little close to watch. And, finally, Tanya. When Simon leaned over to put the brownie on the plate, Tanya put her hand on his shoulder and pecked him right on the cheek.

That's when they knew she was drunk, so Simon did not immediately lurch backwards as something had told him to. Instead, he smiled at her and offered her water. Which, she declined, in turn for a large, cold, glass of milk. As bad of an idea as it was, the holidays had special rules; there would be time for water later. It was time to act like a child, for now, and Simon was certainly absolutely nobody to deny her. He got them all milk, and then set to cleaning up the mess. Packaging leftovers that they'd eat for a week.

After that, come nine, it was family movie night. Tanya, for all the shock if was worth, invited Simon to sit with them. He couldn't refuse and ended up on the couch. Tanya was curled up on one arm, half lounging with her feet stuck out in front of Mikaela, who was all leaned and pressed against Simon's side. Vincent took to sitting sideways in the armchair, and that's where they stayed. It was already snowing, on Thanksgiving, and the house was quick to cool down before the movie had even ended. Once it did, though everyone was half into a food coma already, it was a quick move upstairs to bed and warmth. Simon, like usual, took Mikaela. He carried her this time, straight to bed.

When he laid her down, Butter jumped up to join her immediately. Just as cold as the rest of the family, and Simon gave him a passing pat as he found a safe place to curl up near Mikaela's pillow. Mikaela found her way buried under the blankets, her comforter, and made sort of a hovel for herself out of them. Still, she stared at Simon with her wide blue eyes, almost like she was expecting something. It took Simon a moment, but he smiled.

"Happy Thanksgiving," he told her, leaned down to press a kiss into her a temple. "Do you need anything before bed?"

She shook her head.

"I'll put out a glass of water before I leave." Because a no meant she needed something, just wasn't brave enough to ask for it. Which was fine. Simon ruffled her hair and moved to stand.

"Hey, Si?" her voice kept him seated, and he stared at her. After a moment of mulling, he decided silence was the best response he could give. To just wait for her to speak, on her own terms, in her own time.

"I'm…glad you're family too," she muttered. Her hand poked out from beneath the blanket, and Simon pressed their palms together.

"Me too, Mikki. There's no one I'd rather share that honor with."

She gave him a wide, sleepy smile, then pulled her hand back underneath the blanket. Simon couldn't feel pain. Didn't have a concept of heat, or cold, but the burning sensation her little hand had left in his fingers was so, ever apparent that he had to stop and wonder. To look at his own hand as he stood from the bed. He left for only a short moment to get her a glass of water from her little bathroom and set it on the nightstand. Mikaela had yet to close her eyes, still just staring up at Simon. He watched her a moment, opened his mouth to say something, but waited just a hair too long.

"I love you, Simon," nothing more than a whisper.

Simon stood there, frozen. Stared at her as her eyelids became too heavy to hold open. "Goodnight, Mikki," was all he could manage, without betraying the sudden stress he was under. He left and used that night to attempt and sort through his own head.

 

December 15th, 2034-

Snow was coming down hard, and Mikaela was home late because of it. Just, dropped off, and she wandered in the door alone and pressed it shut behind her. Simon, who had been dusting in and around the excessive Christmas decorations in the living room, dropped everything to enter the foyer. He was about to welcome them home, but the words died on his mouth when he realized them was only Mikaela, looking put out and pale faced. Tanya was nowhere to be seen, and the door was, as Mikaela intended, closed and locked.

"Where is Mrs. Wilks?" Simon asked. He stepped aside as Mikaela walked past him, without so much as a smile or a second glance.

"Sudden business trip," Mikaela grumbled out, and her anger was clear. Upset, frustrated, any real number of things. But, she was in no mood for talking, that much Simon knew without a doubt.

He stared at the door, a little lost, a little longer, before he went back to cleaning. Unfortunately, or fortunately, depending on the day, the Wilks were a relatively clean family outside of their bedrooms. But, laundry took time, and that time had to be filled with something. Idle dusting was really all there was to do, between the dishes being done and the empty time. He kept at it, straightened the ornaments on the tree, adjusted the snow globes on the mantel, changed the litter box and promptly fed Butter, then stood back in the foyer looking at the door. Mikaela had been home for an hour. Now, she was standing at the top of the staircase, looking down at the door as well. The snow outside went on, and Vincent was not home.

"Where's Dad?" she asked, though her voice barely carried.

"I don't know," he said, honestly. "I'll let you know if I hear anything."

Mikaela didn't respond, just turned and ran back to her room. Simon heard the door slam as he disappeared back into the dining room, then kitchen, and laundry room. Just in time for the dryer to ding, and Simon stared at it a long moment before he proceeded. Electric motions, as he pulled the clothing from the dryer, put the washer load into the dryer, and started another load. The last load of the day. Since the house was relatively empty, he took the load into the living room to fold. Something he had found Vincent didn't mind, but Tanya did. Tanya wanted him to fold it in the laundry room, which was perfectly equipped to handle a folding session. But, it was cold and secluded. As a family-specialized android, Simon didn't care for it. At least, that's what he chalked it up to.

He folded laundry in silence. Waited for a message. For anything. Time passed on, however, heavier than it had been before, until Simon had finished the load and set the clothes, neatly folded, back into the basket. Before Simon could move to start putting it away, there was the patter of feet running down the stairs. Running, until Mikaela had nearly thrown herself into Simon's lap. Her face was covered in tears, and she was trembling—Simon immediately shifted her, so he could wrap his arms around her. She pressed her head into his chest, legs around his waist and fingers clutching into his shoulder blades.

"Mikki—Mikki, what's wrong?" he stroked her hair, keeping her as close as he could manage. Anything to try and calm her quaking.

She didn't answer, just blubbered into his shirt. Heaved, a choked sound, while she tried to catch her breath. Simon rubbed her back, urged her along. Coaxed her into silence, until she was just whimpering. Stray tears here or there, but the damp spot on his shirt was already evident.

"Dad's not coming home," she sniffed.

"Oh, Mikki," his voice was a near whisper. "What happened?"

"He—he said he has finals." Finals to grade, most likely. This entire week, Vincent had been running frantic with preparation for final examinations, and now it was grading season. Grades, which were always due too soon, took precedence over everything else. Which left Mikaela here, absolutely heartbroken. It was her last day of school. She had, most likely, been expecting some sort of exiting evening. Whether that be a meal or a movie or games. Something that the three of them might do together.

"It's too sn-snowy, so Gale can't come play. L-Lynn has f-family coming—" she hiccupped, and Simon brushed his thumb along her cheek and tried to shush her. She slumped forward, pressed her face into his chest again, and sat still while he patted along her spine. Her grip loosened after a time, until she was limp in his arms. Sniffing.

"They do this all the time," she finally said. She sounded defeated, and it left an empty feeling in Simon's chest. "Work is always first. Always _so_ important. Don't they love me?"

His LED was blinking red, because what was he supposed to say about that? He shifted, picked her up with him as he stood, and started the slow walk upstairs and back to her room.

"Of course, they do," he insisted, like he knew what he was talking about. "There are simply things that adults must do, sometimes. I'm sure they'll make it up to you. Christmas is approaching, after all."

"Presents are just presents," she mumbled into his shoulder, then buried her face into his neck. Something about her sentiment made sense. Presents were just presents, and she had a lot of them. They weren't fixing anything.

"Well, I'm sure they'll take some time off for you." Simon kept her in his arms when he sat down on the edge of the bed. They sat there in silence while Simon situated himself up against the pillows, legs dangling awkwardly off the side of the bed to keep his shoes away from the bedspread. When he had finished, Mikaela rolled off the side and onto the bed, where she kept her head in his lap and an arm draped across him.

"You love me, right, Simon?"

Simon thought his thirium pump would stop. He had options, there were always options—always a few choices left to him to make. He could be honest. He could tell an eleven-year-old girl, who was in tears over the fact that her parents were absent, that he was an android with no real capacity for love. He didn't know what it was. He didn't know what it meant. He didn't _have_ emotions. He could brush it off, find another way to phrase things that would be less direct. Or. He could lie.

He put his arm around her shoulders and squeezed, "Of course I do," he told her. Smiling. With a blue, solid light, because it didn't seem so bad to admit it.

She gave him the widest smile she could possibly manage, even with red and puffy eyes.

"How about we play a game, hm? One of your video games, perhaps? I think I was getting better at that racing one."

Mikaela laughed, "You were not! You're absolutely terrible," she broke out into a giggle, but jumped off the bed anyway to turn on her television. Simon would never have the heart to tell her that he let her win. Every time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm a hoe for comments, so leave me your thoughts! Tell your friends, tell your family.   
> [Check Out My Tumblr If You Want To See More](https://tantumuna.tumblr.com)  
> 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhhhhh chapter 4 here we go. Things are actually gonna get moving which is hilarious. No, I won't tell you how long we have until Jericho--that's just no fun. But, enjoy what sauce I have for you here. All I had to say about this chapter was _Oh Vincent._
> 
> Also, it was harder to write than I thought. Onto chapter 5.

January 8th, 2035-

Mikaela's sleep schedule was intolerable at the best of times, but even worse come Monday morning at 6am, exactly. Promptly, because Tanya was losing her patience faster than she could empty her coffee cup. It was still snowing, which meant they had to leave earlier anyway, but Mikaela wasn't awake yet. Wasn't dressed—but the carpool was already there, and Tanya had her coat on. Simon had given up trying to make breakfast, only at Tanya's insistence. If Vincent wasn't going to have the decency to get out of bed and help her, then Simon would fill his shoes. Not that he didn't usually wake Mikaela up anyway, but today wasn't supposed to be like that. Vincent had classes to prepare for, he was supposed to get up with everyone to get things started, so Simon could spend the entire day focused on dismantling Christmas.

"Mikki, hey," Simon shook her. "You need to get up."

She responded with a heavy groan and rolled over, her arm flopping straight over Butter. Who, in his time, had learned to deal with it.

"Mikki—" Tanya was screaming, next, and that's what overtook the conversation. She was _leaving_ , without Mikaela. She was in a rush, and they had to leave now, or things were going to go so far south, they'd never see her again. That set off a panic in Simon, because what did that mean for Mikaela? School wasn't optional, she very well couldn't miss it. He was red when he shook her again.

"Mikaela, you need to get up!" this time, when Simon shouted, Mikaela's eyes flew open with shock. He had never, not once, raised his voice at her. He'd never had to, but that was beside the point. Mikki had never heard him scream, but there was no time for her to be upset. Simon was out of her room in a flash, leaving her to pull herself out of bed, and down the hallway. The master bedroom door was wide open, and Simon entered without knocking.

"Vincent," Simon wandered over to the lump on the bed, where Vincent was still snoring. This was new, too. Simon had never had to wake Vincent up. "Vincent, Tanya's already left," he pressed into Vincent's shoulder, trying to coax him awake.

"Mmm," Vincent responded without opening his eyes. "Take Kaela to school then. Just take the car," he muttered, then promptly waved Simon off.

Simon reeled back long enough to be a little shocked but had his orders. He left the room without another word and hurried back to Mikaela, who was struggling to pull her pants up. Everything calmed down in an instant, back into normality. Struggling with her clothes was just an everyday thing for Mikaela, in the morning. Never quite awake enough to handle the intricacies of buttons and zippers, so Simon came to her rescue.

"I'm sorry for shouting at you earlier," he told her, quietly, while he buttoned up her pants.

"It's okay," her words were sleep slurred, and she rubbed her eye.

"I'm taking you to school this morning," apparently, though he did his best to feign acceptance and not confusion—annoyance. "That should be fun, right? I'll let you listen to your music."

"Loudly?"

"Loudly."

Mikaela grinned and gave up her sleepiness in turn for a tight hug around Simon's neck. He patted her back when it was time for her to let go, and she padded on over to get her shoes and her bag. Simon always made sure it was packed, so she never had to worry about forgetting her stuff. It was the first day back to school, the second half of fourth grade. She rightfully wasn't very excited though, as most kids were not. However, Lynn would be at school for this half, even if she was a few grades higher. Eighth grade, to be exact, and would be graduating to high school in May. The high school, thankfully, wasn't far.

When she had put her shoes on and gathered up her stuff, Mikaela met Simon downstairs for a half-baked breakfast. Just the waffles he'd made, since Tanya had left time for nothing else on the menu. But, Mikaela had three of them and was content, which was all that mattered. After that, they were in the car, and off. The one good thing about the automated cars was they knew, well enough, how to drive in the snow. Even with the roads treated, things could still get a little dangerous, and it was easier to have it in the hands of something that knew what it was doing. Simon was sure he would be able to drive behind the wheel of a manual car. Just, wasn't sure that he wanted to.

They arrived at the school some fifteen minutes later, and there was a place to drop off students. The car knew the route and pulled up alongside the sidewalk where everyone else did. The door opened, and before Mikaela hopped out, she leaned forward, over the back of the front passenger side seat, and pressed a little kiss into Simon's cheek.

"Thank you," she sang. "See ya later, Si!"

"Have a nice day," he called back, waving after her, just before the doors closed. She met up with some friends that Simon didn't recognize, and they were immediately talking, giggling, and one of them waved back at Simon too. Apparently, not every child had an android caretaker. And he was something of a celebrity. The thought made him grin, as the car picked back up and took him home.

Bacon was frying, sizzling loudly, when Simon walked through the garage door, into the kitchen, with none other than Vincent behind the skillet. His stubble was growing in, and his hair was freshly bed-made, curled up all around his eyes and cheeks. Definitely still sporting that newly awake look, with dark circles and a bit of dried drool on his chin. Simon, ever polite, tried not to stare as he entered.

"Hey. Drive good?" Vincent greeted with a salute.

"Just fine. She's been dropped off. I have been instructed to work on taking down the Christmas decorations today—"

"Yeah, yeah, I know. I gotta get started on lesson plans. You won't mind if I crash in the living room with you, will you?" he cocked an eyebrow, gave the smallest hints of a smirk, and flipped over a slice of bacon.

"Not at all."

"Perfect. I'm gonna eat breakfast, but I'll meet you there."

Simon blinked in perfect time, then nodded. He wasn't sure the nature, or purpose, behind such a comment. Simon didn't have to wait for Vincent's presence for anything to really matter. He knew where everything went, how to put it back away, and how long he would need to do it. So, he left, ducked out the doorway and into the foyer where the boxes had all been left for his grand adventure of the day. He started in the foyer, with the quickest and easiest things to get rid of. There were lights wrapped around the banister and a wreath hanging in the window on the door, then some garland over the doorways into the dining room and into the living room. These each had their own box, and into another bin labeled "foyer".

After that, it was the living room, where he started with the mantle. _Priceless_ little knick-knacks that Tanya had collected over her years, always displayed with absolute care. Simon was just as careful, wrapped them, and put them into their respective boxes. He replaced them with the corresponding photographs and statuettes that had been there before. Then, just as he was ready to take down the stockings, Vincent wandered in with his laptop and a handful of books, which he plopped on the coffee table with little regard for what they displaced. Simon watched him for a moment, and decided to leave the stockings to, in turn, clear the coffee table of its Christmas cheer.

"Cleaning," Vincent scoffed. "Looks dreadful."

Simon stared at him, half bent over with a decorative reindeer in his hand, "I was designed to clean." So, reasonably, it wasn't dreadful. It was just another task Simon was supposed to do, and he did it, without complaint. He had no capacity for complaining. Without another interruption from Vincent, he cleared the coffee table and gave it a once over with a wood cleaner and a rag. In the time it had taken him to do such, Vincent had made himself comfortable up against the armrest of the couch, his sock covered feet dug in between the cushions, and his laptop set up on his stomach. Somehow, he'd managed to prop an open book between his shoulder and the back of the couch, so he could read it, from where he was lounging.

"What are you doing, exactly?" Simon peered over the couch, while he worked with the stockings, and saw an open, empty, PowerPoint presentation and a few scattered documents.

"Preparing notes for my class. Starts next week, and the damn administration wants notes posted ahead of time," Vincent was rolling his eyes.

"You don't talk about your class a lot," Simon replied, vaguely, like it was just a fact. He began to pluck ornaments off the tree. It was fake, with built in lights and glowing, purple fibers.

"I try not to over break. Gets obnoxious to think about it."

"Well," Simon wrapped a little duck ornament up in tissue paper, "I don't even know what you teach."

Vincent leaned back over the arm rest, to give Simon the most inquisitive look he could muster, "Have I really never told you?" Simon shook his head. "Oh. I teach psychology. Pretty fascinating, yeah?"

"I don't have any experience with that," Simon was still managing to play a passive part in this conversation, wrapping up more ornaments and putting them in their proper place.

"Well, all you _really_ have to know is that Freud thought everything was about dicks," Vincent said, blankly, and Simon nearly tripped forward into the tree. "But, he was important for the history of psychology. I teach an upper level class, but most students appreciate a review. We humble people can't remember everything."

"I—well—of course," Simon couldn't sift through the possible answers fast enough and ended up just pinching his nose. He busied himself with another ornament, desperate for a topic change after that. But, Vincent saw how Simon reacted and had the audacity to chuckle.

"He came up with this wild thing called Psychosexual stages. Crazy, right? Say…" Vincent peered back behind himself again, bent over the armchair. Simon's LED was red, but Vincent couldn't see it. "You androids go through any of that? Like—we didn't do much looking around before we picked you up. So," he mulled it over for a moment, fighting with the words while Simon tangled his hands nervously into his shirt, "do you have…?" and he gestured, to make it easier.

Simon would've been sweating, if sweating was something androids did. All he had to show for it was the red, blinking light, which he kept just so pointed away from Vincent. It was a valid question, unfortunately, especially if Vincent was telling the truth—that they hadn't done any research. And, it added up with what Simon had experienced since he arrived, and with the thought that this was just idle curiosity pertaining to his psychology class, Simon eased himself down.

"Um," Simon started, "Yes. Newer models have been outfitted to fit into every aspect of family life." Which included participation. Which, Simon wasn't obligated to mention outright, given his primary function as a babysitter.

After a long pause: "Cool," Vincent said, then turned back to his laptop. Simon stared at him for a moment, and a moment longer, just frozen in place. In confusion. Unsure as to why the conversation had taken place, and just what prompted Vincent to end it so suddenly. But, after that moment, Simon returned to his ornament packing. It didn't dawn on him until some odd time later, when the tree was bare and half taken apart to ask a follow up question.

"You're not going to…talk about me in your class, are you?"

Vincent didn't even glance Simon's direction, just shook his head, "Nah, no reason too. Just my curiosity."

Simon couldn't quite place it, but that set him entirely back to blue, and he felt relaxed. An all systems go sort of impression. It was well enough, after that, and Simon stuffed the rest of the tree back into its storage bag. There were still lights strung up throughout the living room, and a few stray decorations out on the shelves. Nothing that should take much longer, though he'd already been at it for a good couple of hours.

"When I finish, would you like lunch?" Simon asked.

Vincent just made a humming noise and shifted an image around on the PowerPoint slide. He seemed a little too preoccupied to really engage, so Simon went about the rest of his work in silence. He stepped around on a glass floor, careful not to disturb Vincent's concentration with each new thing he had to put away. Until, the boxes were all rightfully packed into their appropriate bins, and it was time to shove it all back into the storage space under the stairs. Still, ever careful not to make too much noise, Simon put it away. Organized, this time. Then, it was straight to the kitchen.

There was time to make something extravagant, as it was only 10:30, and Vincent hadn't eaten breakfast that long ago. But, a noodle dish would do nicely. Something with a fresh made sauce that would take a bit of time to render down, and something to keep Simon busy while standing in the same room with Vincent was still a little strange. He decided on a tomato-based sauce, and it would be entirely fresh from the tomatoes they had sitting in the bottom drawer of the refrigerator. They needed to get used up before they went bad, anyway, which made it a win-win situation. First, the sauce pan, low heat, and Simon got to work.

Not two minutes short of eleven did Vincent slap his laptop shut and toss it onto the now clear coffee table. He yawned, stretched, and padded over into the kitchen, where Simon was still cooking. Vincent blinked for a moment, watched as Simon worked diligently at the stove, the little sway to his hips and the way his lips were pursed. The coffee machine was just beyond him, and that caught Vincent's attention next, even as he spared a smile for Simon.

"Believe it or not," Vincent started, and Simon jerked, "Tanya used to have the time to cook. Loved coming in here and just watching her."

Simon glanced over his shoulder and certainly did not miss the way Vincent looked at him just before stepping by, to the coffee machine. Simon shifted to give him more room, added a few more spices into the pot.

"What you making?"

"I'm trying my hand at Italian, since there's time," Simon replied. He made sure to keep his eyes pinned on the pot and looked nowhere else save the handle of the spoon.

"Smells good. That all for me?"

"I don't eat, Vincent."

Vincent snorted. Something about the frankness of the statement always amused him, but he went about making his coffee without further comment.

When the sauce and noodles were done, Simon served Vincent on the couch with a refill on his coffee mug. The news was playing out in front of him, and after Vincent was settled, Simon stepped back to take a peek before he went about kitchen cleaning. They were talking about plans to release a new android series later in the year. The WR400 and HR400. Simon grimaced when he saw The Eden Club mentioned.

"Isn't that—"

"Yeah," Vincent seemed less bothered, slurping up one long noodle. "Good stuff, Simon."

Simon blinked. He nodded, "Thank you."

Vincent absorbed himself back into the news cast, and Simon didn't stick around much longer to hear about these new androids. It was his programming, he told himself, that he was meant to be around children, that this whole thing was just inappropriate. Not the fact that it was Vincent who had brought it all up, and that made him think. He retreated back into the kitchen, where he cleaned up his own mess—the pots, the utensils, everything had to be washed, dried, and put away. There was no sense in running the dishwasher if it would be faster to do it himself. Afterward, there was still a last bit of cleaning to be done. Upstairs, sparse and extra Christmas decorations were scattered about the hall, and Mikaela had lights strung up in her room.

Only, a few of the statues and decorations were not ones that Simon had put out a month prior, and he had only ever dusted them during a whole-house-clean, because he needed a step stool to see them. Now, he just seemed scrambled. Vincent's commentary was enough to mess with the order of operations in his head, and the stool was still downstairs. Simon sighed, and stared at the decorations for a little longer, before the sound of footsteps roused him back.

"Vincent," Simon glanced over his shoulder, and this time he couldn't hide the bright red status on his temple. But, Vincent either didn't notice, or didn't realize what it meant, because he just smiled.

"Let me get them for you," he offered, though his suggestion was more of an order, because he was walking up behind Simon a second later. Pressing just a little too close, with his hand on Simon's shoulder, and reaching up on his tip toes to grab the decorations. He handed each one to Simon in turn, who took them, and held onto them tightly.

"Thank you," Simon looked at Vincent wide eyed, red in his face. "I—I could've gotten the stool."

"I wanted to help," Vincent said, instead, and smiled so with his eyes. He squinted, and there were little creased at the edges that framed them so perfectly. Simon couldn't help but stare this time—nobody in the house had ever offered to _help_ him, outside of Mikaela, who generally did it for her own benefit. And, she wasn't much help, bearing only that she was eleven and didn't possess the required skills. But, Vincent.

"Thank you," Simon said again, stupidly, and Vincent nodded. He gave a halfhearted salute and padded on back down the stairs, whistling an unfamiliar tune as he did.

 

January 15th, 2035-

Normally, Vincent took care of cleaning his own office. Simon had been told that from day one. Vincent cleaned his own office, and nobody was really supposed to go in there. He wasn't hiding anything, save maybe a few Sigmund Freud books he didn't want anyone to know he had, but it was a matter of privacy. It was Vincent's space for him to work, and it was set aside for him. Except, on days like today, when class was beginning in less than twenty-four hours, and Vincent's lesson plan wasn't even half way completed. That left little time for anything other than pouring over his laptop and his books and his old college notes for the day. Which meant, come lunch time, Vincent took his sandwich with greed and stopped Simon before he left.

"Simon, hey," he said, and made his point blatantly clear by grabbing Simon by the wrist before he dashed off.

"Yes?" Simon kept his eyes glued to the press of Vincent's thumb into his pulse point.

"I've got—listen, just a lot of stuff to do. Would you mind? Cleaning a bit in here? If you're not busy," Vincent worked out his best smile, his best puppy eyes.

"Of course," Simon couldn't very well refuse. "Where would you like me to begin?"

Vincent mulled it over for a little longer than he needed to, his thumb twitching along Simon's skin. In theory, Vincent knew that the skin was synthetic, but something about it felt real, something made Simon feel a little warm. But, Simon clearing his throat brought Vincent back to his thoughts, and he dropped Simon's hand.

"The bookshelves, please," and pointed. Simon followed the tip of his finger to the shelves, which were lying in slight disarray from all of Vincent's frantic searching.

"Of course," Simon said, again, and he left for only a moment to gather necessary supplies for dusting and cleaning. Those, he sat on the floor and promptly began to remove a section of books at a time to clean underneath.

He did this with each set of books, on the first bookshelf, before he stepped back and looked over them. He scanned the whole shelf, by title, by author, and took to organizing them. Vincent hadn't ever seen the word _organization_ before, so it wouldn't last long, but it would still make a complete job, which is all that mattered. Simon paused to give a specific book more of a once over as he moved them around, and that caught Vincent's eye. He'd been working, on and off, between watching Simon edge around the bookshelf. Up on his tip toes when he needed to, squatting down to reach the bottom shelf. On his knees, to work the caked-on dust out of the corners. Watched him, now, standing there with the book in his hand.

" _Language and Mind_ ," Vincent said, as he stood up. He crossed the room and stood behind Simon, just far enough to the side that he could pluck the book from his hand, "Noam Chomsky. Interesting stuff."

"What is it?" Simon looked at Vincent now, not the book, even as the pages fell open.

"He's known as the Father of Linguistics, developed a theory on how the structure of language is rooted in genetics. Not really much help for childrearing, though," and Vincent laughed. Simon missed the amusement and furrowed his brows.

"I know everything there is to know about raising a child. This, however…" he looked over the book, as Vincent flipped through a few of the beginning pages.

"Would you like to read it?" Vincent clapped the book shut and handed it back. "I can lend you my notes, too. I always found him a little important, especially these days. You androids are something impressive, I'd say. You can talk just like we do, and you obviously don't have this genetic crap that Chomsky talks about."

"It's—"

"I really don't want to know," Vincent laughed. "I like the mystery behind you."

Simon blinked. He hadn't realized there was anything mysterious, not when he could essentially answer any question Vincent had. But, maybe it was a purposeful bout of ignorance. Vincent didn't want to know, because knowing made Simon a little less human. A little more robot. They were supposed to appear human, anything else might be uncomfortable. Vincent was just doing what he thought was best, and the explanation would've taken some time.

"I do think I'd like to read it," Simon decided.

"Perfect. In fact, you can read anything you see. Anything that strikes your fancy. You will have unrestricted access. To the office. To me," Vincent grinned. "Any book you want."

"That—that seems a little much, doesn't it? This is your space—"

"And, I'm sharing it."

Simon gulped. A generous offer. Simon glanced back down at the book and pressed his fingers into the cover. He didn't need any high-tech scans to know the book was old, the publication date, old. But, it was something Vincent wanted to share with him. However easier it would've been to find information elsewhere; the book didn't seem too bad. Especially when books were such a rare commodity. Most things had gone electronic. If Vincent had books.

"Where did you collect all of these?" Simon asked. He opened the cover and watched as Vincent meandered on back to his desk. With his head, he gestured for Simon to follow, and Simon did. He stood at the edge of the desk, hip leaned into it, and felt along the edges of the pages. It felt nice.

"My father gave them to me, and he got them from his mother, who was the _original_ Doctor Wilks. After she got married, anyway. She finished up her education and worked in psychology research until she got sick. Dad wasn't so much a fan of it, but he was a stickler for sentiments, so he kept the books around. When I showed an interest, I got them. Sometimes," and he stopped to chuckle, "I still like to make my students write on paper. They hate it."

There was the smallest hint of a smile on Simon's face: "It can't be that bad," he said, head cocked to the side.

"Paper? Nah, but they call me old fashioned. 'Vince, why can't I just use my laptop?' they whine," Vincent laughed to himself, folded his arms across his chest. "I usually give in, but I like the people who go with it better," he winked.

The hint turned into a full blown, dopey, little grin, "That seems biased," Simon stated like fact. And, it was; even Vincent agreed with too much of a blithe little laugh.

"Would you like me to finish cleaning?" Simon asked, when the silence set in.

"Ah, screw it," Vincent decided. "Take some books, hole up in the arm chair or something. Knock yourself out, okay?"

Simon couldn't, and maybe even didn't want to, refuse an order like that, so he nodded and returned to the bookshelf. He plucked a few more books from the shelf, differing topics to get a better feel for it. There was something about these books, about these topics, that was special. Or, Vincent wouldn't have wanted to share them so earnestly, and he always worked so diligent with them too, the way he prepared for class. Simon intended to work just as hard and followed his new objective without delay—leaving the cleaning supplies sitting right on the floor where they were. Vincent didn't say anything as Simon left.

As instructed, Simon made himself a home on the armchair in the living room. He curled up against one of the arms, his feet tucked up underneath his knees, and the books set up precariously on the edge of the coffee table—just close enough that he could grab the next one. If there was one good thing to come of this, it was that Simon was a fast and efficient reader. It came with the android territory. He finished _Language and Mind_ within the hour and placed it in a new pile on the coffee table. Then, the next book. This one was thicker, and sat heavy in his lap, so he shifted ever slightly until he was leaning his head into the back of the chair. This particular one was more about social development than anything else, which kept Simon interested for the next hour and a half. After that, it was abnormal psychology—emotion, thought, and behavior. That, Simon squished himself farther down into the chair to read, and he didn't stop until Vincent was padding into the living room.

"You still reading?"

Simon jerked and almost dropped the book but caught in time to just look over at Vincent. Who was wearing his glasses. Simon stared, eyes a little wide and mouth half open in a strange little smile. Vincent returned a real smile and walked over to plop down on the couch, close enough that he could see over Simon's shoulder. The book was just a large collection of different theories and ideas, and when Vincent saw where Simon had left off on, he grimaced. He reached out and pulled the book out of his grasp.

"If you read Freud I will, actually, die," Vincent lamented. "Please."

Simon blinked a few times, then nodded, "If you don't want me to. I won't."

"You've saved my life," he grinned, stood up and pressed his hand into Simon's shoulder as he did. "I did have a question, though. We've got a bit before Tanya gets home—and before Kaela. So, do you wanna come help me…plan my class? Tomorrow's the first day, can't be late."

Simon nodded, without reservation, and wormed his way out of the armchair. "I don't know how much help I can be though."

"Moral support, maybe?" Vincent helped him pick up the stack of books. Carried all of them, really, and let Simon wander helplessly behind. Once back in the office, Vincent put the books away and rolled a chair over beside his own, so Simon could sit beside him. Simon was too caught up in the moment, the kindness of it all, to think beyond just taking a seat and pulling as close to the desk as he could manage. To get a better look at what Vincent was actually doing.

There were scattered documents all around the screen, a video pulled up, and a half-done presentation with a few pictures on the tiny thumbnails. Vincent searched around for a moment before sliding into his own desk chair, scooting closer and laying out an old notebook, yellowed pages. Inside were handwritten notes and diagrams that were old enough, and Simon had an impulse to touch them. An unnecessary, unwanted, impulse, that he didn't understand. So, he sat there, still, and waited for Vincent to get situated.

 

February 14th, 2035-

Everything was supposed to go according to plan. Simon was supposed to take Mikaela to school that morning, after he made breakfast just for her and made sure she had all of her things. He was supposed to come straight home and make breakfast for Vincent and Tanya, who were supposed to have the day off. It was a Wednesday. Tanya was supposed to stay home, and Vincent was supposed to not work on classes. He'd prepped for Thursday's class already and had no Wednesday class to worry about. Simon was supposed to be able to serve them breakfast in bed, but the moment he turned the corner to go upstairs, to tell them that things were prepared, Tanya was dashing down the staircase with her phone shoved in between her cheek in her ear. Still clad in only her pajamas, one sock.

"What do you mean? That's huge!" she was shouting, dashing into the kitchen to grab herself coffee. Simon watched her with wide eyes, unable to say anything. "That could break the case, you have to be kidding me!"

Vincent padded into the kitchen moments later, baggy eyes and messy hair. A very unamused look etched into his forehead, his lips turned down into a frown. Tanya was beginning to look frantic, her eye brows up and her mouth dropped open. She started to shake her head, sputtering into the phone. She downed the coffee, freshly made and hot, in one gulp. She slammed the mug onto the counter and started to pace.

"That's going to ruin us—ruin the case. We can't do that, you can't— No, I'm off today!" she paused, mouth hung open in the shape of the word she last sputtered, then her head shaking again. "Matt—I know, I know—yes. Yes, yes. Alright," and she sighed, hung up, and lifted her head to give Vincent a twisted-up face. Regret, sadness, something.

"Fine," Vincent huffed, folded his arms and leaned into the doorway. "Go. It's fine," and he pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Vince, it's the biggest case we've ever had—"

"I know."

She sighed. She wasn't supposed to have to go into work. Not on Valentine's day. It just hadn't been a good day for holidays, and she walked on glass on her way back to the bedroom. To change. Bags. Shoes. To leave. She was out of the house within 15 minutes, and Vincent just stood there and stared forward. At the breakfast that Simon had made, sitting out in mockery on the counter top, on a silver tray with one full cup of coffee. One empty one.

"Well," Vincent started, then sighed. He pushed himself off the door frame and marched over to the tray, looked over it. Bacon, eggs, pancakes. Enough for two. Enough for one, if he tried hard enough. "Come up stairs with me," he said.

"Of course," Simon replied, and watched as Vincent picked up the tray. Simon followed without a word, yellow.

Vincent went straight into the bedroom, and Simon stopped in the doorway. He watched, idly, a little nervous, as Vincent set the tray down on the bed, after one-handedly straightening up the blankets, then crawled in to sit with his back against the pillows. From there, Vincent gave Simon a sideways glance. Almost curious, but the way his features always scrunched up was pleasing. There was nothing Simon could really do about it, he just stared.

"Well, are you coming?" Vincent asked.

"What exactly are you referring to?" Simon had to ask. Had to clarify, because this didn't seem like the sort of situation that he should be letting himself get into.

"I'm not going to let my holiday go to waste because Tanya wants to go play lawyer." The phrasing made Simon stiffen, but he kept his lips sealed. "I just want you to sit and talk with me," Vincent tried again, softer this time. "I know you don't eat. I haven't forgotten," he smiled, tapped his finger into his temple just to emphasize he had a memory.

"I do still have chores that need to be done," Simon tried, instead. These were conflicting objectives, and he needed the direction.

"Alright. If I let you clean, promise you'll come out to the bookstore with me later. Tanya and I were gonna go."

Simon stared for a moment and nodded. That sounded reasonable, "If you would like me to. I'll go."

"It's decided! Great. I appreciate it."

"Of course. Will we be back in time to pick up Mikaela?" Simon started with picking up the laundry and tossing it into the hamper.

"Yeah, we'll get her on the way back if you're alright with that. I've been wanting to do a bit of shopping, anyway. Maybe it'd be fun for a different eye. And," Vincent mulled it over, bobbing his head from side to side, "I wasn't very nice to Tanya this morning. I should probably pick her something up as an apology."

That seemed to be a theme, Simon was noticing. Presents as an apology, instead of apologizing. Instead of fixing it. He almost felt bad, but it was masked behind a robot concern for a family. Simon had seen what that habit was doing to Mikaela, and now he was seeing where it came from. Some sort of rift between Tanya and Vincent. A problem. Simon couldn't help but want to find a way to mend it—it would be better for Mikaela. Better for him, perhaps, in the long run. But then, there was that thing he kept saying.

_If you're alright with that._

Like it mattered what Simon thought. Even though he would, inevitably, go along with anything Vincent asked of him, Vincent still felt the need for some type of consent, and Simon wondered if he appreciated it. It that little glow swelling in his chest was appreciation, programmed in so he would respond favorably to owners like Vincent. Who were kind, considerate, and looked at things like Simon like they were something more. Simon smiled to himself while he straightened up the vanity.

"Can I ask you something, Vincent?" Simon looked at him through the mirror, his reflection, and watched as he swallowed a mouthful of pancake.

"Shoot." Another bite.

"Why do you ask if I'm alright with things you want to do? I am your android, I am required to follow your instruction."

Vincent looked at him for a moment, blinked, like something he hadn't considered just clicked, and smiled. "Feels right, is all."

Simon nodded. It was a vague answer, but it was genuine. It felt genuine. Especially with the way that Vincent's eyes just lit up when he smiled through the mirror, then took a long sip of coffee. He finished eating the breakfast in relative silence, the entire breakfast, without so much as a few stray comments here or there, or an answer when Simon asked for assistance. Simon was able to pick both the bedroom and the master bathroom up, and then followed Vincent down the stairs. Vincent carried the tray, then left Simon to do the dishes, start the laundry, and clean up the kitchen.

"I need to pick up Mikaela's room before we leave. Is that alright?" Simon poked his head through the doorway to the living room, where Vincent had made himself comfortable on the couch with an old movie.

"Sure," Vincent threw up his arm with his comment, to give Simon a thumb's up. Simon took that as his cue and hurried up the stairs, into Mikaela's room. She inherited a messy gene from both of her parents, and it made her twice as bad. Toys, clothes, books: they were always left lying around on the floor, and Butter had left another unsanitary surprise sitting by the foot of her bed. Another hairball, and Simon sighed. Butter was doing it on purpose, now, and almost always in the same spot.

Simon took care of the hairball first and would only count down the days until another showed up in the same spot. Then, he gathered up Mikaela's laundry in her hamper to set aside, out in the hallway, until he could take it down to the laundry room. Following, the books and the toys. School was just beginning, but once it was in full swing, she was going to need the desk space. Even if she asked Simon to work on some of her papers and projects—he would need the desk space. So far, nobody had found out that Mikaela wasn't responsible for all of her homework, and Simon did intend to keep it that way. Unless, someone asked.

He wasn't sure he would be able to _lie_ about that.

He took the hamper down to the laundry room and had a ten-minute wait before he could throw the first load into the dryer, then start Mikaela's. After that, he stopped for a brief moment in the kitchen, to look at himself in the reflection of the refrigerator. He ran his fingers through his hair and straightened his collar, adjusted his shirt. Looking presentable was still important, and once he was, then he went out to the living room. Vincent was still on the couch, half on his way to taking a nap, but kept one eye open when he saw Simon enter.

"I've completed my tasks. The laundry will be finished this evening, after we've returned," he reported.

"Mm, sounds good," and he pushed himself up, stretched and yawned, then turned off the television. The movie ended itself automatically. "I'll get dressed. Wait there for me."

Simon did that. He waited, right there, for fifteen minutes without moving a muscle, until Vincent came back down the stairs and paused, shocked, at the bottom. He was all done up in a gray suit jacket with a blue t-shirt underneath, a dark pair of jeans, and those work boots he always wore. Sunglasses, this time, instead of his normal glasses, and a watch snuggly secure around his right wrist.

"Simon, what the hell," Vincent tried to stifle his laughter, but failed miserably and came to put his arm up on Simon's shoulders. "You didn't have to go statue on me."

"You did tell me to wait here—"

"Good job, good job," Vincent continued to laugh, spoke in his sing-song voice. Simon stiffened in response, smiled lightly. The praise was for nothing, at all, in particular, but it still lit him up like it did when Vincent compliment his cleaning ability. Or the way he handled Mikaela. Or anything. Simon thrived on it.

"Alright, let's get going, then. Hit the lights, yeah? I'll meet you out in the car." Vincent disappeared after that, through the dining room. Simon followed after him once the lights were down.

Vincent made several, fast decisions in the car, and they ended up at the bookstore first. A quiet little place, just outside of the city. Somehow, it was still standing, though it looked a little run down, and made it clear on the front that it specialized in books. The real, leather bound, paper bound, hard back, books. Simon immediately knew why Vincent liked it here—why this is where he might have wanted to come with Tanya. It felt out of the way. Small. Intimate, even. Simon followed Vincent out of the car, once they parked, and Vincent held the glass door open for him when they entered. The walls were lined with shelves, and those shelves, filled with books. They were in no particular order, with no particular genre specified, or author, save the classification of fiction and nonfiction. Everything else seemed a free for all, and the only lick of the present that had seeped into the store was a computer in the back.

"I don't come here often, but I always make it my goal to buy something when I do. If there's something you want, let me know," Vincent smiled, lead Simon into the store. If there was anything Simon _wanted_ , Vincent would get it. Something about that felt strange—felt like what Simon _wanted_ was important, and that went against everything. Still, Simon didn't let that unsettling feeling in the back of his head worry him.

He followed Vincent to the nonfiction side of the store and stood idly by while Vincent browsed. He looked right with his nose stuck in a book, his glasses teetering just on the edge of his nose, and his lips pursed. He read dutifully, with a shine in his eye, and Simon was more interested in that than the books. But, Vincent noticed after he skimmed a few pages, and shot Simon a half-lidded smile. Simon had reflexes well enough to jerk his head away, to act like he hadn't just been caught in the act, but his face was red, and his fingers were tangled in the fabric of his shirt.

"You can look around," Vincent urged. "Jude up there's a nice guy, he won't say nothing. Doesn't hate androids, or anything, just really likes old books."

That was comforting or was supposed to be. Whatever reason Vincent had for mentioning that Jude, presumably the owner of the store, didn't hate androids was lost on Simon. He couldn't quite forget it, but he did as he was asked and stepped away, to do his own browsing. Most of the books were fairly recent, though as he made his way farther back, there were some with ripping bindings. He pulled one out in particular, a red cover, and just looked over it. When he opened it, it fell open immediately to where a page had been torn out. Ages ago, he deduced, and put the book back on the shelf. Beside it were books on war, and the other side, a book on rivers. Simon finally ended on a book with _World_ emblazoned on the front in big, gold letters. Its cover was a smooth leather, and the pages were heavy when he opened it.

The title left little to the imagination. There was a section for every major country, and maps scattered throughout the pages. Much bigger than the little section of Detroit that Simon had ever seen. He found himself actually reading what appeared to be brief histories, feeling his fingers along the pages as he turned them. Three pages in, and Vincent's shadow cast down over a glossy map page. Simon glanced up. Saw Vincent's smile. Returned his own.

"See you found something. Whatcha got?" Vincent was just behind Simon, so that when he bent his head down to look, as Simon folded over the cover, his chest bumped his shoulder.

"Ahh, world history. You interested?"

"I believe so," Simon replied, and he hadn't taken his eyes off Vincent yet.

"Good pick. I got some more specific books back home, too." Which stopped Simon in his tracks. Home. There was something there, behind that word. An error, maybe, that made his chest swell like he couldn't believe the word. Home. As in. Their home. Simon's home, which wasn't something any android was really programmed to consider—the difference in a house and home was something he had seen though. Seen it through Mikaela, the way she laughed and cried in the spaces of her home and went outside to face the world, sometimes, as someone new.

"Hey, Simon—you still there?" Vincent nudged him, and Simon jerked back to himself. He nodded weakly and handed the book to Vincent, when Vincent asked for it. "Where'd you go?"

"I was caught up in processing," Simon muttered, and hoped Vincent wouldn't ask for more explanation than that. He didn't have any and had purposefully chosen to be vague. And, Vincent accepted the answer without pause, and slapped his hand into Simon's back.

"Let's get this bought. I got some cash on me," and he nodded his head back towards the front and for Simon to follow him. Simon kept his head down while he did, staring at the heels of Vincent's shoes.

In the car, Vincent left the bag on the floor and leaned forward when he messed with the console. The drive there had been mostly music, in which Vincent had a wide variety of tastes. Simon didn't mind—didn't mind any music and had often spent time listening to Mikaela's pop songs with her. Vincent's taste was much more mellow, and Simon tried not to tap his foot along with the beat. Androids didn't do that. He wouldn't do that, and instead stared as Vincent swiped around.

"Let's skip the shopping," Vincent decided. "Let's just go home and read. How's that sound?"

Simon blinked, let his mouth drop open as he tried to formulate some sort of response. Every time Vincent asked him his _opinion_ , his processors struggled to keep up. "If that's what you would like," he decided on.

Vincent absolutely glowed with amusement and started the car without another word. He filled the car ride with mindless chatter, and Simon listened to, and hung on, every word. It must have been what he sounded like when he lectured to his students. Long, drawn out and eloquent, and stopping every so often to laugh at his own jokes. His eyes gleamed when he did, and other times he would laugh so hard his eyes would close. Simon couldn't help but wonder if his students adored him.

When they arrived at the house, Simon reached for the bag and hit Vincent's hand on the way. Simon retracted his, and Vincent grabbed the bag with a toothy grin. Again, offering to carry things—which was not Simon's express job, but more of an understanding, that he was supposed to be doing the work, and Vincent was supposed to, well—not. Which meant nothing anymore, because Simon didn't have it in him to insist that Vincent not concern himself with such things, especially not when he took the bag up without word and slid right on out of the car. It was August all over again, when Simon arrived for the first time, and Vincent stretched out his hand to help Simon out. Only this time, Tanya wasn't there to slap his hand down, and Simon was brave enough to accept the help.

Vincent lead him in through the house, turning on a few lights as he went, and over to the living room. Simon stood there while Vincent shed his shoes, his coat, and shifted chairs around to give them a wider space in front of the fire place. Then, he dropped down, and Simon watched the fire place come to life. It was electric, but gave off the same warmth, and looked so real. Real enough that even Simon thought he could feel the flames as they danced, but it was Vincent's fingers around his wrist, dragging him down to the floor with him. There was a blanket—Simon hadn't watched Vincent put the blanket down.

"I know you don't _need_ the fire, but humor me, yeah?" he was digging through the bag while he spoke, to pull out their new books. Simon gave a starry-eyed nod and waited for Vincent to hand him his book.

Simon sat cross legged on the floor, and before he could even open the book, Vincent was flopping down with his head on Simon's thigh, smiling up at him with a wink. Simon stared, and really had nothing in return to say—Mikaela laid on him all the time. There had been a few occasions where she had refused to sleep if Simon would not stay with her, in bed, until a storm had passed, or she finally fell asleep. This wasn't new. It was just. Different. It wasn't Mikaela laying on his leg and talking about something that Lynn had done at school. It was Vincent.

"You don't mind, do you? Gotta get comfortable to read."

"I must get Mikaela at three—"

"I won't get that comfortable," Vincent laughed, then opened his book. "Kick me off if it gets uncomfortable."

Simon didn't correct him, again, and just smiled. It wouldn't get uncomfortable, it was physically impossible for it to get uncomfortable. But, the sentiment was there, and Simon appreciated it. He opened his own book, back to the same, glossy map. Vincent forgot about the apology present. Simon picked Mikaela up at three. And Tanya didn't come home until the lights were out and everyone was asleep. Everyone but Simon, who was sitting on the couch, in the dark, folding laundry. He and Tanya exchanged a set of looks—sympathy, confusion, frustration. Something that spoke between them, before she retreated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tell me what you guys think! Seriously lacking motivation right now, even a keyboard smash keeps me going. Loves!  
> [Check Out My Tumblr If You Want To See More](https://tantumuna.tumblr.com)  
> 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhhh and another chapter from yours truly. Some slight exposition in this one and I had to roll back to Halloween--because SOMEONE in my discord server wouldn't let it go. Now you all have to suffer through that too. Also, there's a cameo from someone here. It's not hard to find--but see if you can!
> 
> If anybody's been curious as to what some of these people look like, [now you can see them here!](https://tantumuna.tumblr.com/post/175967485011)

April 8th, 2035-

Simon was doing last minute checks at the door. Making sure that Tanya's dress was properly zipped, that not a strand of hair was out of place and straightening her necklace in the back so that it draped down properly. Then to Vincent, to fix his tie, adjust the collar of his suit, and hand him his glasses for the evening. The good pair, not the bright obnoxious blue pair that he wore for everything else—these had a black, sleek frame. It wasn't just any night; Tanya and her team had recently won the case. The biggest case they'd had all year, and their boss was treating them to an invitation. An exclusive invitation, and of course, Tanya had a plus one for Vincent. Who proved, time again, that he was the only reason she was accepting the invitation—she hadn't really ever developed an eye for art. Much less an obsession with the people behind the art.

"You have your plan for this evening?" Tanya asked, looking at Simon with careful eyes when his fingers lingered a little too long around Vincent's collar.

"Yes. I will drop you and Vincent off at the address you provided, then I will obtain groceries, and pick up Mikaela from Gale's house."

Tanya nodded, pleased, "I'll send you a message when we're ready to be picked up, then."

Simon nodded, "Of course."

"It'll be late—I want to stay as long as possible," Vincent was positively giddy.

Their invitation was to one, and very exclusive, party. One of few that were ever hosted; for as much as people enjoyed them, and for as many people attended, it was no secret that Carl Manfred did not particularly enjoy his own parties. Still, it was a rare chance to get to meet him, and that's what Vincent was hoping for. That, and this was an even rarer date night. A night that, because the case was completed, there would be no late-night office runs. Vincent didn't have classes on Monday anyway, so they could spend the whole evening together with nothing to prepare for. That's what Tanya was looking forward to, and she hummed pleasantly when they linked their arms together.

"I'll get the car, then," Simon excused himself. It would be a proper date, no walking out the garage door like they were just going shopping down town. Instead, out the front door where the car would be waiting for them, door open, with Simon standing by as though he was some type of chauffeur. With a car that did all the work, and much less well dressed. Still, he smiled, and played up the role just for them.

"Tip the fine young man," Vincent teased, and even Tanya snorted. She crawled into the car first, and then Vincent—both in the back. They were doing this properly. Simon sat in the front, and Vincent leaned over the seat to make sure things were entered properly. They were going to a banquet hall, not a twenty-minute drive, but it was still somewhere completely new. He pulled back to sit with Tanya just before Simon's skin retracted to start the car.

The banquet hall was huge and well lit, for being as intimate of a gathering as it was. Someone stood in front of the door, tall and dressed in black, greeting a few people that walked in. Simon recognized the blue triangle on the jacket, but nothing else. And, the car came to a halt in the driveway, so there was really no time to dwell on anything. Simon stepped out of the car first, to leave the door open and pretend he was escorting the couple on their date. Vincent exited first and offered his hand to Tanya. She accepted it without hesitation, and Simon stared a little longer than he needed to. Remembered too well when Vincent helped him out of the car.

"We'll give you a call," Vincent told him again, slapped a hand on his shoulder and shook him gently.

"Try to keep things cheap this week, too," Tanya added, as an afterthought. "Vince wants to come home with an authentic painting this evening."

"Of course," Simon did a half bow. "Enjoy your evening."

Tanya smiled; Vincent winked, and only Simon saw.

Then, groceries, which were always a hassle. It would've been just as easy to have them delivered, but Tanya preferred it this way. And, with as scarcely as they actually did shopping, it cut down on whatever horrendous shipping costs would come with ordering bulk food for half a month. Simon did it all for free, of course, and that was the part Tanya enjoyed. From her perspective, she was just ordering food and having it delivered—Simon was just doing the pickup and delivery. He always did, without complaint, and found something peaceful about wandering empty grocery aisles at this time of the evening, on a Sunday night when most reasonable people were at home with their families.

This Sunday, however, had been put aside specifically for this purpose, and Mikaela had spent the previous night at Gale's house. With Gale, all day, and Monika of course. Just so Tanya and Vincent could have a date night. A date night. Because the last one they'd tried to have had ended in absolute misery, even if Simon got to spend the afternoon with Vincent's head in his lap, absorbed in a book next to the fire. That wasn't a date night.

At least. Not for Tanya.

That was a thought Simon quickly ejected, and if he had had the power, he might have wiped it from his memory completely. But, it was there, and he couldn't even bring himself to see it negatively. Vincent was the only one who had really shown him any kindness—any respect. Tanya had her moments, but he would never be anything more than the robotic manservant to her. Mikaela was too young to really understand what it all meant. But Vincent. Vincent had a light in his eyes and a glimmer to his teeth when he smiled. Smiled at Simon. Something that made Simon think a little different than he was programmed to, and it was bad. He knew that much. Something, in the deepest recesses of his circuits, didn't care.

He waited outside by the front for another android to bring him the groceries he'd picked up. For as out of place as a real grocery store might have seen, it was all electronic anyway. Picking off electric tags from the shelves, which sent more signals elsewhere for items to be picked out of the back. Simon loaded the car alone and set it on its way to Gale's house. He would arrive precisely at seven o'clock, which is when he had told Mikaela he would be there. Which meant Mikaela would not be ready until approximately fifteen minutes later. There was no harm in waiting, and the car took off.

From behind the door, after Simon had knocked, he could hear a loud crash. He winced at the sound of it and waited patiently for Monika to open the door. She looked disheveled, which wasn't something he should have ever been able to say about an android—but it had become clear that she was not a model ever designed to handle a child like Gale. Who had trouble sitting still for longer than fifteen seconds, and that was dropped down to five when Mikaela entered the picture. Monika all but yanked Simon into the house, pushed him into the living room, and then up the immediate flight of stairs.

"Go fix your child! I lose patience otherwise! House—not clean anymore. So much work to do," she was fretting, and Simon didn't have the heart to tell her no. He hurried on up the stairs and into the only room with an open door. Where some sort of decorative statue was lying on the floor, and Gale was laughing with tears in her eyes.

"Simon!" Mikaela shrieked. She dropped everything and ran to him, still clad in her pajamas from the night before, and jumped. He met her half way, arms around her waist, and hoisted her up into the air where she wrapped herself around him.

"Have you been giving Monika trouble?" he asked.

Mikaela shook her head, and Gale, cross legged on the badly made bed, let out a giggle. She had no poker face, either, apparently, and Simon found it rather endearing.

"Well, you should apologize for your behavior. We need to get home now, alright? I have to pick up your parents later this evening, and you don't want to go wait in a stuffy parking lot."

"Okay, okay," Mikki squirmed until Simon let her down, and he politely exited the room, shutting the door behind him, while Mikaela got herself ready to go home. Whatever that meant, even if it was just throwing her stuff back in her bag and parading down stairs in her cloud pajamas, Simon wouldn't mind. However, there was one question plaguing the back of his head. Monika was furiously scrubbing at dishes when he found her and asked.

"Where are Gale's parents? I don't believe I've ever seen them."

Monika stopped, almost frozen, then just shook her head. "Never home. I take care of child. Gale rowdy and ungrateful but is cared for."

Simon blinked, "Is she really? I've never seen her act that way when she visits the Wilks's house."

Monika continued her scrubbing after that, "Gale shy. Gale not sure how to act when at Miss Wilks's house. Here? Gale think she is queen. Miss Wilks, her gallivanting knight."

That was an imagine, and Simon found it amusing. Rather, he liked the idea that, even here, Gale was comfortable, and Mikaela made it better. Mikaela just had that air about her. She walked in a room, and it lit up in her presence. Not a second later did she come bounding down the stairs, Gale at her heel, and a bag on her shoulder. Still dressed up in her pajamas, but she had shoes on, which was an improvement.

"I'm ready, Si," she told him. Standing there like she hadn't done anything wrong, but. She knew better. "And, uh. I'm sorry for being bad, Monika. We picked up Gale's room real fast too."

Monika's face fell from harsh to just something completely melted with fondness, "Thank you, Miss Wilks."

Mikaela absolutely beamed. She turned around to give Gale the tightest hug she could manage, and Gale held on for dear life. When they parted, Gale tip toed over to the couch, to curl up with a dingy little pillow, and wait patiently for Monika to turn on the television. They left, after that, and Simon waved back into the house with his thanks. He wondered, for a moment, if he had ever seen Monika's LED turn blue, when she looked back at him with a yellow ring around her temple. Even androids could experience stress; it wasn't quite the same, and more indicative of a sensory or system overload. If Monika truly wasn't meant for child care, which she insisted she wasn't, and was still left the sole caretaker of an eleven-year-old. Stress seemed the appropriate response

"Where did Mom and Dad go, anyway?" Mikaela asked, waiting by the car, for Simon to open it for her.

"To a party," Simon replied. "I don't know much more than that." The car opened, and Mikaela hopped right in. Her bag was left in the back, and she plopped herself down in the passenger seat. Simon had taken well to letting her do that, however much he probably shouldn't have, but she had proved that she wouldn't misbehave. Simon at least trusted the car not to run straight into the nearest tree.

"That's stupid," Mikaela rolled her eyes. She was already plucking at different radio stations when Simon pulled himself into the car, situated himself in the seat. "When are they gonna be home?"

"Late," Simon replied. Mikaela now watched with awe as Simon's skin pulled back. Before he could replace it, this time, Mikaela reached out to grab his hand and just hold it, between her little fingers.

"We should have our own party," she muttered, and flipped his hand so she could look at his palm instead. He let her and leaned back in the driver's seat to watch the houses roll by instead. Having their own party certainly sounded more fun than whatever it was he had planned for when they arrived home.

"I have to put away the groceries first," suddenly.

"I'll help?" Mikaela furrowed her brows together, like that was the most obvious solution there was—and Simon was a fool for not seeing it. He smiled at her, though, and took back his hand long enough to ruffle her hair.

True to her word, Mikaela helped with the groceries. She could only carry a bag or two in at a time, but they made it in after only a couple trips. Mikaela, trying desperately not to notice how many bags Simon had draped on his arm before taking them inside. Instead, she made her use when it came time to actually put the groceries away. She unpacked the bags and set things out on the counter, in little piles. There was a pile for the refrigerator, the freezer, and the pantry. Simon just plucked from the piles and stashed things away in their rightful places, organized. The difference from how the kitchen had looked from before he arrived and now was night and day. He couldn't help the little bubble of pride. Within twenty minutes, they were done, and Mikaela was sitting on the floor amongst the pile of bags she'd made.

"That was hard work!" she complained, flopping her arms into the floor—crunching the plastic.

Simon gave her a fond laugh, "Yes. Thank you for assisting me. In return," he walked over and knelt beside her on one knee, "what sort of party would you like to have this evening? I haven't received a call, yet. We have time."

She looked at him, pursed her lips, like she was trying to figure out if he was being serious or not. Of course, he was, and she decided the same a few seconds later when she nodded, "I want to make brownies."

"Brownies," he stated, and Mikaela watched as yellow overtook the blue on his temple. "I believe we can do that," he said. He stood and helped Mikaela up, but she stood there when he let go of her hand and stared.

"What's that thing on your head?" she asked, pointing directly to the LED.

"Well," Simon started. Moved away only to pluck Mikaela's apron off its hook and hand it to her, "it's like a status display. It can show when I'm thinking, when I'm stressed, if I've been injured in some way…" he trailed off.

She stared at him for a moment longer, but when he started to pick up the bags, Mikaela joined in and helped. They tended to keep the plastic bags to reuse later, for other things around the house. Especially now that Butter had made his home, the bags helped immensely when trying to clean up hair balls, or the occasional vomiting fit when he ate too fast and made himself sick.

"It's kinda cool," Mikaela muttered. It made more sense than the uniform to her, at least. Which, she didn't understand, and still wasn't brave enough to ask about. She wasn't sure she wanted to hear the answer for why Simon had to walk around with _Android_ written on his back in big, bold letters. Or the armband—the little triangle—that glowed too bright when she was just trying to sleep.

"What kind of brownies do you want?" Simon changed the topic immediately, moving over to lift Mikaela up onto the counter.

"Chocolate, Si! The only good kind!" she shrieked at him, laughing now instead. Simon smiled at her.

"Yes, but there are specifics," he reached into the pantry to prove his point. "We have peanut butter chips," he set the bag on the counter. "Chocolate chips. Both. Neither. I believe we have caramel—"

"Both!" she threw her hands up. "Chocolate peanut butter brownies! Do we have frosting? I want to frost."

Simon hummed and made a show for her as he rummaged through the cabinets. They did have frosting, he knew that off the top of his memory, but Mikaela liked to be involved. She liked to see what Simon was thinking—not just assume that he knew it all. So, when he pulled out the very full container of dark chocolate fudge frosting, Mikaela beamed with delight.

"You can frost, but we have to bake them first. Would you be so kind as to pull the mixer up? It's right beside you. I'll gather the ingredients."

They reconvened minutes later, when Simon had all the ingredients they would need, and Mikaela had pulled up the mixer. She even had obtained a large, wooden spoon, and was holding it front of her face when Simon came over. He plucked it out of her hand, laughing at her, and she pressed her forehead into his cheek when she snorted her own little laugh. From that position, he rolled a hair tie from her wrist and used it to wind up her hair in a loose, low hanging bun, to keep it out of the way while they baked.

"You should braid my hair sometime," Mikaela commented while she watched Simon work with the mixer. Pulling up the top part so he could unlatch the bowl and use it for their batter. "You _can_ braid hair, right?" she challenged.

Simon stood there a minute, thinking, and then nodded, "I can braid hair."

The smirk on Mikaela's face was nowhere indicative of the innocent nature of just. Braiding hair. And Simon eyed her warily for the briefest second before returning to the task at hand. Mikaela wasn't as much help as she may have otherwise wanted to believe, and instead spent most of the time perched on her section of the counter recalling stories from her sleepover with Gale. Simon listened diligently to each one, especially when they had almost accidentally flushed Gale's phone down the toilet. That would've been a nightmare, and Simon spared a snort for it. After that, Mikaela really only wanted to help by licking the spoon and trying really hard to turn up the speed of the mixer without Simon noticing. She succeeded, once, and splashed batter up onto Simon's face. All things considered, it was the funniest thing she'd seen all night, and jumped down to the floor so she could physically collapse with laughter.

"It's not that funny—" he cut himself off, wiping the batter off his cheek. "Wilks Residence."

Mikaela stopped laughing and looked up at him with wide eyes, listening.

"I will be there," Simon confirmed, and the phone call was over. He pulled Mikaela up from the floor and dusted her off. "We've gotta be quick. I have ten minutes to get this in the oven. I'm going to have insist you come with me, however. You're not old enough to be left here alone—"

"Yes, I am," she huffed, pushed out her chest and folded her arms.

"Your mother doesn't think so. Please, get your shoes and your jacket. I'll finish the brownies."

She pouted but did as she was told. In the meantime, Simon poured the batter into the square brownie pan and got them situated in the oven. The temperature set, the timer set, and then to promptly turn itself off when the brownies were done. There would be no house fires on Simon's watch. They just hadn't had enough time, a miscalculation because he hadn't anticipated how much time Mikaela was going to spend goofing off. Not that he minded. She came bounding on back into the kitchen exactly eight minutes later, where she was all bundled up and ready to go.

"Why don't you ever put on a jacket?" she asked, mid yawn, and went willingly when Simon ushered her out the door.

"I don't experience temperature the way you do. I don't require one."

"That's stupid. Jackets are comfy," and to make her point, when she sat in the back of the car this time, she curled up in on herself. Huddled all up in her blue hoodie. Simon had to admit, she did look comfortable. Maybe a jacket wouldn't be a bad thing—but they didn't make jackets like that for androids. Instead, he dropped the conversation and started the car.

While Simon was always punctual. Always knew exactly when to leave to be where at what time, traffic stops included in his analysis, people were not so efficient. When he arrived back at the banquet hall, Tanya and Vincent hadn't made their way out. Instead, Simon stood outside, leaning up against the car, and waited for them out front. It was late, and Mikaela was half asleep, sprawled out along the back seat of the car. Now, he was more worried about getting her home and in bed than he was about actually bringing Tanya and Vincent with them. Only, something else caught his eye after that.

The front door opened, and the light poured out. Yellow, in stark contrast to the blue tinge of the street lamps. To the blue triangle on the jacket of the android that exited. The same one that had been there before, and it was always a strange moment to see another android. Simon didn't get out much, not too much farther than the store most days, and then, the only androids were commercial models. Other androids like him—he'd only ever seen a few. Only ever met Monika. Androids that seemed to have a quieter purpose than to run stores and conduct transactions. Simon stared forward, almost blindly, and watched the android hold the door open, thank the guests for coming. Vincent and Tanya—finally. When he sent them on their way, he stood there, at the door, and watched them make their way over to the car.

Simon, for the longest moment, couldn't shake the feeling that the android had looked at him. Maybe they'd even made eye contact. But, it was an instant, and the android disappeared back inside. The lights went off soon after. Simon opened the car door; Tanya sat in the back where Mikaela moved to sleep in her lap, and Vincent sat in the passenger seat.

"Did you have a nice time?" Simon asked, quietly. Vincent peeked into the back seat of the car, to watch Tanya settle down, a little red in the face, and close her eyes. Just in time to miss the car starting and Simon's hand.

"Yeah. Tanya got a little tipsy," he was almost whispering. "But, I got to talk to Carl Manfred for, like, an hour. Guy's pretty cool." He finally looked back at Simon, who was relaxed in the chair, watching out the windshield. "You guys?"

"We made brownies."

Vincent nodded, and the exhaustion in the car took over. When they arrived home, Simon had to wake Vincent, who woke Tanya. Simon carried Mikaela to bed, and Vincent kept his arms around Tanya to steady her up the stairs. When everyone was put to bed, Simon took a final few minutes to fetch the brownies, which he put into the refrigerator. Unfrosted. Mikaela could frost them when she returned from school the following day, just as she had wanted to.

 

April 9th, 2035-

Vincent was in charge that morning, when Tanya woke up and could barely move without her entire world spinning. She spared no expense and vomited, on the floor. Once she'd done that, they knew they were in for a fun day. Vincent, with a sigh, told Simon to go into the room and watch over her. After he cleaned up the vomit, of course, and he would take over Mikaela for the morning. He hadn't had much to drink himself but wasn't a morning person either way. He didn't have the stamina to deal with Tanya when she was hung over, so they switched places. Vincent woke Mikaela up and got her dressed, made her breakfast. Simon was nothing short of impressed while he stood in the kitchen, gathering up the cleaning supplies, and watched as Vincent and Mikaela ate burnt peanut butter toast together. There were times when the man acted the part of father.

Simon retreated upstairs and into the master bedroom, where Tanya was curled up on the near side of the bed with her hands around her stomach. She looked pale, miserable, and her hair was all flattened onto one side of her face. She gave Simon a pathetic little look, then shifted again so she didn't have to watch him clean up the vomit. He made quick work of it, then sat down on the edge of the bed to give her a glass of water.

"Vincent is taking Mikaela to school," he whispered, and she nodded into the pillow.

"I know. He never stuck around for the hangovers." Though her voice was muffled by the pillow, it still sounded like a sad excuse of a laugh. "More than happy to get me drunk," she shifted, looked at Simon again.

"Is there anything you need?" Simon asked. Hangover remedies wasn't exactly his primary function.

"Vincent," she said, without missing a beat. Simon was almost taken aback by the comment, the darkness in her eyes when she said it. "He thinks because I'm busy…" she stopped, closed her eyes and sucked in a deep breath. "Aspirin," she changed her mind, and Simon went into the bathroom to get it for her. She swallowed it when he returned, without the water. Then, a heavy sigh.

"Why am I even talking to you?" she muttered to himself.

"Because I'll listen," Simon answered. He couldn't tell if she liked it or not, with the strange, scrunched up look she gave him.

"Yeah. Like a good little robot," she rolled over, her back to Simon, and just breathed for a moment. "You've been a big help," she continued. "We thought having an android to take care of Mikaela would give us more time together. So, we could work things out—Mikaela deserves that much from us. But, like always," she huffed. "He's here for the fun."

After a moment of silence, she told Simon to leave. That she'd call him if she needed anything, and she was going to try very hard to need nothing. He pulled the blinds shut and watched her bury herself under the blankets before he stepped out the door. Closing it a gently as he could manage. As she promised, Tanya didn't call for him the rest of the day, and Vincent stayed in his office. When Tanya finally came downstairs, after Mikaela was holed up in her room doing homework, it was to grab a cup of coffee. She patted Simon on the shoulder when she passed him, and for the first time, with a genuine look in her eye.

"Thank you, Simon."

He nodded and went back to washing the dishes.

 

May 30th, 2035-

Mikaela had exactly two days of school left, but Vincent had just turned in his final grades for the semester and was pouring out his joy with the coffee pot. Straight down his throat, and Simon could only think how lucky he'd been to have brewed the coffee early enough that it had cooled down by now. It was quite the sight, at eleven thirteen, to watch Vincent down the entire pot in one go. Minus what Tanya had drank that morning with her breakfast, but reasonably, an entire pot.

"Good morning," Simon greeted, and Vincent looked at him.

"Morning. You're up early," Vincent grinned, dropped the coffee pot into the sink to go and rummage through the refrigerator.

"I…don't require sleep? I've been running since 6am," Simon frowned. "When Mikaela and Mrs. Wilks got up. It's also after eleven, it's not early."

"Ahh. It's my vacation day, don't yell at me," he sung and popped back out of the fridge with a day-old slice of pizza. His bare feet made a sort of slapping noise against the tile floor as he walked over to the bar counter top and sat down.

"I apologize, I didn't intend—"

"You're fine, I'm joking," Vincent laughed. He made a horrid movement to fold the pizza up like a wrap and eat it like that. Simon stared for a long moment, mouth slightly agape, but decided against any commentary. He went back to wiping down the counter.

"Say," Vincent started again, after he gulped down the last bite of pizza. "Why don't you let me do that?"

Simon stopped dead in his tracks, looking up at Vincent with wide eyes, "I—pardon me?"

Vincent was already hopping off the bar stool to come back around the counter. He snatched the rag from Simon's hand and used a well-placed grip on Simon's hip to move him out of the way. "I haven't cleaned a kitchen in ages," he laughed. "Let me."

"I—Vincent, that's quite alright. I'm programmed to—"

"Let me help then. Just tell me what you need done?" Vincent gave him the widest grin he could manage, lips pressed together in a goofy little quirk. Simon was so bad at this game Vincent was playing. He had no idea how to respond, what to say, what to do. He just stood there, stupidly, and watched Vincent clean up the counter top. He brushed the crumbs onto the floor before moving to the sink. The dishwasher was already running, but there were a few things left—namely, the coffee pot that Vincent had emptied. Now, it was only right that he does the dishes too, because he'd been the perpetrator behind the biggest offender. For that, too, Simon just stood by and watched.

"Take a seat, Simon," Vincent nodded in the direction of the bar. Watched, amused, as Simon did as he was told. Even as he looked confused about it, he still sat down at the counter, rigidly straight, with his hands folded in his lap.

"What were you gonna make me for lunch?" he asked, taking extra care to scrub soap along the outside of the pot. Simon watched carefully, too carefully, and Vincent had to ask again.

"Mrs. Wilks had me pick up ingredients for that soup you were talking about—"

"Mmm, good old fava beans, of course. I haven't made that since I was a kid, with my mom," he ducked under the cabinets to pull out a sauce pan. "Think I remember how to do it?"

"Well—I have the recipe…" Simon watched, itched to move back into the kitchen and just do it _for_ Vincent, but he was stuck in the seat. Stuck there by an order.

"If I have questions then, I'll ask. Just relax for a bit. I wanna try my hand at cooking again. See if I still got it. Let's just—I don't know, talk? This is gonna take some time."

"At least an hour," Simon supplied, and Vincent just rolled his eyes. "What do you want to talk about?" he asked.

"Well," Vincent turned on the stove, low heat, before he got to actually collecting ingredients. The fava beans were the most important part, already dried and portioned out. Then, he got a tomato and an onion. Set them out on the counter and started mumbling to himself.

"Garlic," Simon supplied, biting his lip.

"Garlic, right. Can't forget garlic," Vincent knocked himself in the forehead, then dug around a little more to find the lone clove of garlic in the bottom of the refrigerator. "I don't know, tell me about yourself," he said, as he emerged, kicked the refrigerator shut.

"There's not much to tell—not that you don't already know, or have expressed sincerity in not knowing," Simon's brows crinkled. He was unsure of where to take that conversation.

"Alright, alright," Vincent laughed, "how's the reading coming along? I saw you heisted my book on American history. Suddenly interested?"

"Mikaela had a last-minute assignment she needed help finishing, and I thought the book was pertinent to her project."

"Right, but that was due a week ago."

Simon's shoulders slumped, "I've been reading it."

Vincent jabbed a spoon in Simon's direction, a wide, toothy grin on his face, "See! I knew it!" he returned quickly to the sauce pan, and now that it was full of the water and fava beans, he turned the heat up to high. "You enjoying it?"

"It's…a lot of politics."

"That's America for you. Lots of politics. Founded on them, too." He was still flitting about the kitchen, this time, for a cutting board. He stared with the onion, and Simon almost reached out and stopped him.

"You only need half—"

"Mama wasn't no fool, Simon. Whole onion," he raised an eyebrow, grinning.

Simon sighed, nodded. Vincent broke off into a whistle then, while he chopped, and did so dutifully. It obviously wasn't his first onion, and Simon wondered if Vincent had been telling the truth when he said he didn't cook often. That, or he was just immune to an onion. Simon was by default—but his eyes were synthetic. Vincent just seemed to know what to do, so Simon took to just glancing around the kitchen. They had managed to buy a piece of art at the party over a month ago, and it had taken some time to arrive. It was rather large, and they had hung it in the foyer as a focal piece. Simon had hung it, as a focal piece, and he could see it poking through the doorways, they were just so rightly aligned. It was a beautiful piece, almost entirely in blue. On more than one occasion, Vincent had asked Simon what he thought of it.

Simon still didn't have an answer.

"When you finish the book, let me know. I've got a couple more that get more detailed, you might like them," Vincent restarted the conversation, brushing the chopped onion bits into a glass bowl.

"Perhaps. It's interesting, but I don't think it's for me," Simon jerked his head back to look at Vincent. "It's a little violent."

Vincent looked a little wide eyed for a minute, then nodded as he mulled the comment over. "I suppose so. Never really thought about it, but I guess you probably can't be violent. Not good for kids."

Simon scoffed, "Yes. Violence is not in my programming."

"So, like…what do you do when you go out and people stare at you?" Vincent asked. "I keep hearing about these anti-android protests and shit. You ever get harassed out there, when you go somewhere alone?"

Simon blinked, thought it over, "Not in recent months, no. There was an incident in January, but it was of little importance. Nothing was damaged."

Vincent frowned, "Why didn't you say anything?"

"Nothing was damaged. I was pushed and fell. It didn't seem relevant."

Vincent sighed, rubbed the back of his head, "Well, if something _does_ happen again, let me know? Keep thinking back to Halloween, ya know? You looked ridiculous, by the way, with the," and he gestured over the crown of his head, "cat ears and your face half beat in."

"Mikaela insisted I had to dress up," which, made Vincent laugh. It cut the tension, and Simon was glad for it. Revisiting those particular memories felt dark, somehow, and Simon did not particularly care to do it.

"Hopefully, this year Tanya and I can take her. Hell, maybe all of us can go, big party—her, Gale, Lynn; the three of us?"

"Mikaela would like that," Simon supplied, because it was easier than giving his own opinion. He was still trying to figure out if he had opinions.

They talked, on and off, for the remainder of the time it took Vincent to prepare the soup. Simon never once moved from his spot on the bar stool, not until Vincent had served himself a bowl and packaged the rest of the way for a later date, in the refrigerator. Only then, when Vincent was mildly confused and completely amused that Simon didn't follow him automatically, did Simon slid off the bar stool to do just that. Vincent had invited him into it, after all, and they went straight to the living room. Simon took a seat on the couch, after Vincent had gotten comfortable, and stiffened when Vincent shifted again to slide just a little closer. Their knees brushed when Vincent leaned over to eat the soup.

"What else do you have to do today?" Vincent asked. Simon turned on the television while Vincent reached for the remote and promptly began to channel surf.

"The bathroom mostly. The spare bedroom also needs to be revisited, it's been long enough."

"Ahh, that old project. I thought we finished it," he muttered, through a spoonful of soup.

"Yes, but I still need to keep the room clean."

"Nah, I'll take care of it."

"Vincent—"

"I want to," there was a genuine look on his face, and it was a generous offer. Simon shouldn't refuse. Couldn't refuse, not when their eyes met, and Vincent seemed to talk him into it without ever opening his mouth. "You'll let me, right?"

Simon's eyes were half lidded, his lips parted just slightly, and he nodded. "A-Anything, Vincent."

Vincent smiled, "That's what I thought. You deserve a day off. You've done such a great job."

Simon tangled his fingers up in the fabric of his shirt, right over his beating thirium pump, and gulped, "Thank you."

"Great," Vincent took just a passing second to ghost the back of his fingers over Simon's cheek, almost light enough he didn't notice, and by the time Simon thought to look, Vincent was back to his soup, back to old reruns. Like it hadn't actually happened, even if Simon didn't have the capacity to doubt something he knew had taken place.

"What should I do in the mean time? Would you want any assistance?"

"Nah. Why don't you read, or something? Just relax."

And, now Simon was going to read. He didn't _understand_ relax. He was _supposed_ to be cleaning, and Vincent was apt to take that from him and give him something to do. It came from a place of genuine concern and sympathy for how hard he worked, and Simon appreciated that. It just made things a little difficult, a little tedious. Especially because he didn't particularly experience tiredness or fatigue, so there wasn't much cause to be worried. But, he wouldn't ask if he could just clean something else, because there were days for certain things—doing it out of order would mean he would have to relax at some point. Might as well do it now, when Vincent wanted him to.

"I'll read, then," Simon said, and Vincent hummed in response.

When Vincent finished his meal, he took care of it. The bowl, the spoon, and the cup he'd used to drink a glass of water. Simon heard the sink run and the clanking sound of putting dishes away. He was almost proud that Vincent was going to so much trouble. He definitely had that spark in his chest. Vincent stopped by one more time to hand Simon the book he'd been reading, then gave him a passing smile before disappearing upstairs. Simon figured he might as well make the most of it and settled down to lounge like he'd seen Vincent and Tanya, both, do so often. It felt. Comfortable. Simon smiled to himself and opened to the bookmarked page.

Just past the Revolutionary War and the signing of the Declaration of Independence, the front door opened. Mikaela dashed in first, shouting about her school status, almost free. Tanya wandered in after her, heels clacking along the floor, and stopped in the doorway of the living room. She looked straight at Simon, her nose scrunching up in confusion. Simon didn't even realize she was there, not until she cleared her throat, and he dropped the book in a scramble. Only then did he realize how bad this looked. He was half laying down on the couch, his shoes up on the cushions, reading a giant book. When he should have been reasonably doing anything else.

"What _are_ you doing?" she asked—more confused than angry.

"Vincent, um," Simon fumbled over his own voice, "wanted to clean today."

Tanya went from confused to a little shocked, then nodded dumbly, "And you just…listened? Don't you androids have a hierarchy of orders or something?"

"Yes, technically, but he insisted—" Simon stopped himself when Tanya started to frown; he didn't have an explanation. He didn't have a good reason other than that, when Vincent spoke to him, he got a little weak in the knees. He knew Tanya wouldn't like that answer.

"I'll talk to Vincent about it," was all she said before clicking her way up the stairs. Straight into the spare bedroom, where Vincent was sitting on the floor doing nothing in particular.

"Welcome home, babe," he smiled at her. She stopped a little short, taken aback. The room was clean—very clean, and Vincent looked happy. Happier in just the smiles and the laughs he always did, but in a way that made him sort of shine. The curtains were closed, and it was getting later, the sun was not causing this.

"Um, what happened today? Simon told me you wanted to clean?" she shifted her weight onto one foot, gripping at her shoulder bag. She felt a little nervous now.

"Oh, yeah. I thought it might be fun to keep myself busy. Class tomorrow won't be too bad, so why not, right? I had fun."

She nodded, "I'm…glad to hear it." He'd never done this before. Before, Tanya hadn't worked quite as much, but she'd gotten a promotion and work picked up. He'd never offered to clean in her stead, not once. Something was a little different, and she didn't want to know what it was. Instead, she cleared her throat and stepped back out into the hallway. Simon was standing there, at the top of the stairs, looking at her with eyes just as wide. Like a reason. Right out in the open. An obvious answer, but Tanya—

"I'd like to order pizza tonight," she ducked into the master bedroom instead, before Simon could confirm her desire. They had a set order anyway, and Simon knew it by heart. It never differed, save what sauce they ordered as a side.

After that, that look she'd given him, Simon changed his plans. Instead of going to see Vincent, he went straight, and knocked on Mikaela's door. She sang out at him, told him to come in, and he closed the door behind him. He kept his eyes closed for a moment before sighing, sliding down to sit on the floor. Butter came up to him a moment later and crawled into his lap, made himself at home.

"Simon?" Mikaela turned around in her chair, head to the side. "You alright? You're all red," she pointed to her own temple, to make her point, and Simon jolted to cover it.

"I'm—Yes, I'll be fine," he told her. "I just need to order dinner." He closed his eyes and used it as an excuse, ordered the pizza right there, idly stroking Butter's bright orange fur. When he opened his eyes again, Mikaela was still staring at him, chewing on a pencil this time.

"Will…you braid my hair tonight?" she asked, whispered, and looked down at the floor instead. Simon smiled at her, and for once, the simplicity of a child did nothing but comfort him. She was just as confused as he was, at whatever this error was that he was experiencing, at why the LED in his head was still a bright, angry color when he dropped his hand, but he nodded. She wanted him to feel better just as much as he wanted to return to a normal status—this was just her way of doing it. Through company.

"Perhaps you can convince your mother to let you eat in your room. We could watch a movie."

She nodded and moved to jump off her chair, but stopped short, "I've gotta finish my homework!" like she'd forgotten, and she whirled around.

"You have one day left, what homework could you possibly have?" Simon pulled himself off the ground and out of his pity party, even if it meant displacing Butter, who found a new home underneath the bed. He walked over to the desk, where Mikaela was furiously working. "Mathematics," Simon almost laughed.

"It's extra credit! Let me finish!" she nearly shrieked, but Simon complied and sat quietly on the bed. Butter did not join him.

When the pizza came, and Tanya had been worn down enough to agree, Mikaela and Simon were sitting on her bed. He'd taken off his shoes, at her request, and was sitting cross legged on the bed beside her. She was playing her movie and eating a cheese stick while Simon worked on her hair. She wanted it French styled, of course, and over her shoulder, so he was sitting beside her, but facing her, trying to work without pulling her hair.

"You realize this won't stay too long—"

"Shhh, the movie!" she pointed forward, leaned into it, and Simon had to follow to keep from losing his work.

She didn't seem to mind, if she even knew, that this would probably fall out in the morning. It wasn't about the braid, it had never been about the braid. So, he finished it as quickly as he could manage, tied it together at the end with a tiny blue tie, then turned to face the television. By now, the stare down with Tanya hadn't seemed so bad. Getting caught reading instead of cleaning hadn't seemed so wrong. Mikaela finished her last slice of pizza and wiped of her hands, then leaned into Simon's chest to get comfortable. He kept one arm around her shoulders, and one behind him so that he could lean back.

Nobody came looking for either of them that night. Simon set Mikaela's dishes on her night stand. When she had begged for him to stay, he wasn't about to deny her that. It would be nice, and even if they stayed up a little late, there would be time for sleep later. Her last day of school was here, and she would be able to rest as much as she needed to. So, Simon turned off the lights, turned off the television, and laid down beside Mikki. He had to do it right, though, underneath the blanket so the triangle wouldn't disturb her, and his arm went under the pillow—so the armband wouldn't. What surprised him more than her list of demands was, when he had complied perfectly, the way she curled up against his torso and tucked her face into the juncture of his shoulder. Her braid was already falling out, but she was comfortable, and she fell asleep soon after.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, let me guys know what you think! Comments, kudos, asks--I've got a lot of feelings about this story.  
> [Check Out My Tumblr If You Want To See More](https://tantumuna.tumblr.com)


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back at it with a chapter 6 update! Up here is more about covering some _business_ so stay tuned.  
>  Rating has been changed to T (was previously G).
> 
> Shout out to [Temerice](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Temerice/pseuds/Temerice), [mellondrops](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mellondrops/pseuds/mellondrops), and [maevemil](https://archiveofourown.org/users/maevemil/pseuds/maevemil) for leaving so many wonderful comments! You guys are what keeps me going.
> 
> Then, of course, to my obnoxious discord server. This story would've never been anything without them. You guys can check all of us out at [cursed-dbh](http://cursed-dbh.tumblr.com). The blog's gonna be under construction for a few days, but we'll be there. Check them out on tumblr, too:  
> [sharp-lances](http://sharp-lances.tumblr.com/), [exasperatedgladiator](https://exasperatedgladiator.tumblr.com/), [thevulcanpresident](http://thevulcanpresident.tumblr.com/), and [spiceyboye](https://spiceyboye.tumblr.com/)

June 2nd, 2035-

The first, free Saturday Mikaela had had since school began was here. Tanya still had work, but Vincent was free for the summer too. Had been far longer than anyone. Tanya had done what she could to celebrate for them and ordered a fun meal to have for lunch, and she would be home for dinner, but duty called—even on a Saturday. They'd recently gotten a few new cases, and everyone was pulling overtime. It helped the bank, sure, but nothing else. Vincent chose to ignore it, and instead, had holed up in the living room, back behind the couch in front of the quiet fire place, with Mikaela. On the floor. He had a puzzle laid out in front of them, an entirely electronic puzzle activated by touch, with a bright colored picture on it. It was supposed to be a mountain, with a water fall and some wolves. But, at the moment, it was barely even a boarder.

"We're so bad at this," Mikaela laughed. She was laid out on her stomach, legs kicking, and reaching over into the puzzle confines to look at a piece. "This one has a flat side, it's gotta go somewhere."

"Yes, impressive analysis. Where, though?" Vincent was looking over the puzzle with some extreme concentration. Mikaela moved the piece around a little, over to the corner they had managed to put together. It didn't fit on either side. "Maybe we need to start on another side of the boarder? Just find pieces that fit that one."

Mikaela nodded, "Maybe just find all the boarder pieces," she muttered, smirking. Vincent ruffled her hair for that one and shifted closer to the puzzle. He was cross legged, leaning down in the least comfortable way he could manage, but still just enough that he wasn't crushing his own internal organs. He threw a few pieces aside, into the empty space of the puzzle, searching for the boarder pieces Mikaela had so gently suggested they locate.

He managed to find a few pieces which fit with the one Mikaela had, and suddenly, they had found the top part of the boarder. Which connected into the left side they'd already made, perfectly. A few more pieces, and the bottom was popping out from the left boarder as well. Vincent leaned back to admire his work, and Mikaela flung a few more pieces around to complete the top part of the boarder. They were just missing the right side now, and then it would be the horrendous task of filling in the middle. But, the boarder helped. At least made them feel like they'd accomplished something.

They were still searching when Simon came in, and it was only Mikki's giggling that gave away where they were sitting. The couch had them completely blocked from view. Simon left them to their playing while he cleaned up in front of the television. There were dirty dishes left from their morning cartoon binge, and Mikaela had spilled her milk on the table. Nobody told Simon, of course, so now he was left with a dried-up mess. He took care of the dishes and came back with a damp rag to clean the coffee table with. Then, dusted off the television stand, organized the systems and the remotes around it to at least make it presentable. Vincent was not only a collector of books, but of DVDs, which weren't seen too often. Those, Simon was careful with when he stacked them back behind the cabinet door. He popped around the left side of the couch, near the fire place, to clean after that. But stopped to watch as Mikaela finally completed the boarder.

"Look, Dad! I did it!" she smirked to herself, clapping her hands together. Vincent laughed.

"Great, we got it."

" _I_ got it," she corrected.

"You got it, I helped. Come on, there's like three pieces I put in there. Give me some credit," he had his hands up in mild surrender. Mikaela just rolled her eyes, but the giggle she let out betrayed her intentions. Vincent was privy to it and beamed.

"We gotta do the middle now," she complained, groaned, and rolled onto her back with her eyes tightly shut. "You do it, Dad. I've given up. Beaten!"

"You can't give up, bug," he pushed into her, rolled her back over. She put her chin in her hands and stared down at the puzzle, hard, with the most intense scrutiny that Simon had ever seen. He watched, smiling, and tried to stay quiet as he dusted the top of the mantle. Mikaela hadn't noticed him yet, but Vincent shifted to give Simon some more room to work. Simon danced around them to keep it like that, until he had finished and was moving back towards the foyer. He paused a moment, there, and looked back.

"Aha! A whole corner. Take that, puzzle," Mikaela cheered.

"Great. We're so close. Only like, 900 pieces left," Vincent patted her on the back. He glanced over his shoulder to meet Simon's eyes again, to smile at him. Simon took that as his cue to leave, but he didn't get very far.

"What if we had Simon help us? He's probably better at puzzles than me."

Mikaela scoffed, "You're not even helping."

"It's because I'm just so bad at puzzles, Kaela. Bug, please," he was laughing, trying to ease her into it. She mulled it over, and without a second longer, nodded enthusiastically. Simon's hand hadn't even left the door frame before she was shouting for him, and he couldn't help the smile that blossomed up onto his face. He turned around immediately.

"You called?" his voice caused Mikaela to jump, and she looked at him over her shoulder. Smiling, because she hadn't known he was that close, and just waved him over instead of speaking. He came right over, to look at how badly their puzzle progress was coming along. He spared a laugh as he sat down, opposite of Vincent with Mikaela between them.

"We're doing a puzzle. Dad sucks at it," Mikaela told him, bold and straight faced. Simon couldn't contain his laughter, and when he finally stopped, found Vincent looking at him strangely. Lightly. Soft. Something. Simon smiled.

"I'll help," Simon said, "but not too much."

"Why? That makes it hard!" Mikaela whined, bumped her head into Simon's knee and stayed there to pout. She found another piece that fit.

"I could do the puzzle on my own, quite fast. And _that_ defeats the purpose of you doing it," he rubbed her back while he watched, though, and pointed out a piece buried under the pixelated pile for her to find. She flung a few pieces to free it, then connected it to the growing corner she had made. Her face lit up immediately.

"You're good at it though, look! Come on, find me another piece."

There was silence while Simon mulled it over, "Alright, I can—"

"Don't spoil her, Tanya—uh, I mean," Vincent stopped himself, looked at Simon whose eyes had gone wide. "Simon," he corrected himself, not fast enough.

"I…" Simon glanced at Mikaela, who hadn't seemed to notice anything but another puzzle piece that slid right into place.

"I—Tanya used to play board games and shit with us. Just a slip, sorry," Vincent laughed. Smiled brightly, and his eyes were like amber when he did it. Glistening off the light pouring in from the windows, and Simon melted with it. He smiled back and nodded.

"Of course." And, just like that, Simon thought it was alright. He went back to the puzzle with Mikaela, and helped her this time, even if Vincent hadn't wanted him to. She did, and, in that moment, she was more important.

Vincent sat by, leaned up against the back of the couch, and smiled at them. Simon had really, truly, found his place with the family. As frightening as the prospect seemed, it might have not even been the place he was given. Mikaela had taken her time, but when she had finally warmed up to him, this is what they were left with. She was attached to him, literally, physically, where she laid now with her arm and head half draped over Simon's knee. He had to reach around her to move the puzzle pieces, but she barely noticed. Every nudge and press and laugh that came of it—it was so natural, and Vincent smiled. Remembered, idly, when it was once Tanya who sat with them. Back when he would've joined in. But now. He preferred to watch.

"Half way there," Mikaela cheered, tapped her palm into Simon's thigh to produce her one-handed clap. "Half way there," she sang that time, beaming. She leaned her head into her palm, grinning with absolute amusement.

"Do you still need help, or do you have it now?" Simon asked. He brushed her hair back out of her face, and she blew upward at her bangs when he did.

"I got it. I got it the whole time," she stuck her tongue out. Simon laughed, shook his head, and just patted over her hair.

"I knew it. Why don't you invite your dad back? I need to get cleaning again."

"Dad!" Mikaela shouted. Vincent jolted back into reality for a moment, and they were both staring at him. Simon looked concerned; Mikaela looked perturbed. "Dad, come on. We gotta finish."

"Are you alright, Vincent?" Simon asked, quietly, like maybe Mikaela wouldn't hear him. She did but chose not to comment on it. The puzzle was more important; there were pieces to be moved.

"Yeah. I'm great," he shot Simon a thumb's up. "Come on, bug, let's finish this puzzle," and he flopped forward, onto his stomach like she was. His knees were crammed up against the back of the couch, but he made himself as comfortable as he could manage. Mikaela positively beamed and scooted just a little closer to him, so they could both reach the puzzle board.

Simon, in turn, pulled himself to his feet and made his timely exit. He spared one last glance to the living room, where he smiled to himself. Vincent had pieced some more of the puzzle together, and Mikaela was reeling with excitement. She had her head leaned up against his shoulder, blocking Simon's view of their progress, but that didn't matter so much. These were rare moments, and it being Mikaela's first real day away from school, this was the best thing he could've hoped for. He held onto that feeling; it made the other one less apparent. The one where he desperately wished he could go back in with them and sit down. Laugh with Mikaela, talk to Vincent like they did so often. It wasn't his place.

Instead, there was lunch to be made. A special and horrendous concoction of a fish fillet sandwich, macaroni and cheese, and corn—fresh from the cob. Mikaela's special order for her big freed-from-jail-party, as she called it. Simon had his sympathies, of course, save the nights where he'd done her homework and she'd played video games. For those nights, not so much, but he was aware of what sorts of stresses schooling could do to young minds—that, he hoped to avoid. So, instead, he was rewarding her behavior with food that he didn't particularly feel right about making. The caloric intake as enough. Everything else was literally icing on the cake Tanya had bought for the occasion. Tanya's excuse being it was just one day, out of three-hundred and sixty-five. Mikaela would be happy, and they'd all survive it.

But, it was just another present, really.

One he had no place to comment on. He started the fish first and found himself humming while he stirred the noodles in the pot. At least this was real macaroni and cheese, made Simon's way. Not that stuff from a box. That wasn't something Simon ever wanted to see, or feed Mikaela, ever again. If he did, it'd be because someone was threatening him. This felt more meaningful, in a way, when he actually prepared a real meal. Humming, the whole way through, and moving to the melody he made. Something he would never allow himself to do if there was someone around. Androids didn't act like that, but Simon did, and he blamed Vincent more than anyone. Vincent, who was standing in the doorway with his arms crossed and leaned up into the frame, smiling.

"You learned my tune," he said, suddenly, and Simon sputtered and just about dropped the spoon he was holding. The water did splash, and Vincent cursed.

"Yikes—I didn't mean to startle you," and he rushed over, grabbing the loose towel as he did. He took Simon's hand and used the towel to wipe at the water. Simon stiffened, stared, and squeezed his fingers around Vincent.

"I'm fine, you don't have to worry," he whispered.

"I do. Maybe you can't _feel_ pain, but that doesn't mean boiling water won't hurt you. Why are you so skittish?" Vincent couldn't help but notice the way Simon was holding onto him, almost shaking. Subtle enough that it looked like a trick of the eye, but that tremble in Simon's fingers was unmistakable. He squeezed back, trying to provide comfort. It backfired, and Simon yanked his hand away and took a step back.

"I'm alright—" Simon hitched in a breath. A fake breath, Vincent knew that much, but it made him human. Made him _look_ human. "There's no damage, see?" he showed off his arm. "I'm fine."

Vincent's eyes were wide, but he nodded. He looked at Simon's arm for a moment, a long moment, and nodded again. He was pleased enough to see no damage, but he wound up the cloth in his hands. "Simon—"

"I need to keep cooking," Simon interrupted, this time. He'd never, or tried not to, interrupt anyone. He always waited, but not this time. His outburst surprised Vincent. When Vincent's head jerked up to look at him, Simon had folded his arms around himself, shoulders hunched, and was watching the water bubble. They stayed like that for a long time, until Simon had to turn down the water to keep it from bubbling over. Vincent gave in after that and left, tossing the towel on the counter as he did. It looked a bit like annoyance, Simon knew the signs, but he ignored it and started to stir the noodles again. He served lunch in the living room, where the puzzle was left almost finished, abandoned by the fire place, and Mikaela was now curled up into Vincent's side on the couch. The light was off, the television providing all the illumination, and on it, an old movie.

"I have lunch," Simon said, quietly. He kept his eyes downcast, stood still while Vincent cleared the coffee table for the plates, and Simon set them down. "Do you want anything to drink?"

"Milk," Mikaela whispered, grinning. Vincent didn't reply, simply shifted so he could take up the fork.

"Vincent?" Simon asked, and Vincent just shook his head. Which felt strange, and Simon was frozen for a moment. Mikaela tugged on his shirt, though, and he shook his head. Turned on his heel and brought Mikaela her milk a moment later. She didn't thank him, eyes trained on the television, but Simon didn't mind.

He all but ran back through the doors and into the kitchen. Dishes to be done. Things to forget about. The counter needed to be cleaned and the floor, swept. He started with the dishes and scrubbed furiously at each one before finding it a place in the dishwasher. It was clean, but sloppy, and Simon hadn't come out unscathed. He had water splashed all over his shirt, but it was just water—and soap, but mostly water, he assumed. He started the dishwasher after trying, after giving it his best effort, not to slam it shut. Whatever attempt he'd made had completely failed, and apparently it failed loud enough that Vincent came striding into the room exactly sixty seconds later, his hands in his pocket and an eyebrow raised. Just in time to watch Simon sweep a little too enthusiastically, upset, and fling something across the floor.

"What are you doing in here? You're making a racket," Vincent sighed. "Mikaela wants me to be the bad guy, so I gotta come complain."

Simon gripped the broom harder, kept his eyes down at the small pile he'd been accumulating, "I apologize."

Vincent rubbed the back of his neck and stepped around the counter, "Simon—what's wrong? I have _never_ seen you act like this before. We might as well sort it out before Tanya gets home and throws a fit." Then, he did a once over. Simon's dirty uniform. Grease stains beginning to show up on the once stark white shirt. That was new—Simon didn't usually make his own mess when he cleaned.

"We need to get that cleaned up. Grease's a bitch to get out, come on," Vincent reached for Simon, who flinched, but had no choice but to comply. Leaving the kitchen in it's strange half state of disarray, the broom leaning against the unclean counter. Simon followed, was pulled, into the laundry room.

"Shirt, off, come on," Vincent let Simon's wrist go only to root around the shelves over top the washer and dryer. When he turned, Simon was still staring at him, wide eyed. "Simon, shirt. We don't have all day."

"I—" Simon was taking off his shirt before he realized what he was doing and handing it over to Vincent without a second word. "I can clean it—"

"I think you were trying to clean the kitchen, and that didn't work out too well. Let me, please. Besides, I have the strangest feeling you're mad at me," he was already applying stain remover. "This gives us a chance to talk."

Simon shifted, folding his arms over his chest like he was cold—like he was embarrassed, "I don't have the capacity for anger."

"Well, you're sure fooling me," Vincent tossed a glare over his shoulder. "So, what's wrong? And don't give me that status crap."

"I—I don't know," Simon sighed, and this time he was telling the truth. "I really don't know."

Vincent stopped for a minute, but his face softened, and he was turning back to finish with the uniform. "Give me your best shot," he tried. "I'm worried."

They had a sink in the laundry room, and Vincent didn't bother with the washing machine. He just used the sink, so he could use soap to work out the grease stains in Simon's shirt. Simon watched him, his LED turning a bright red while he tried to formulate a response. Vincent didn't comment on the silence, on the time this was taking. He just worked slower, washing out the stain, while Simon rubbed his arms.

"Your concern confuses me," Simon decided, but couldn't maintain eye contact when Vincent gave him a look. "I don't understand why you're so worried—I'm an android. I was built to handle more than the average human is capable of. That includes injuries. But, you're always so worried."

"Well…" Vincent shut the water off. "Yeah? Mikaela adores you. If something happened to you, because I let it, how'd that make me look? Halloween, for example. When she told me, I could've just let them beat you up. Find you in the morning," now, he was drying his hands. "But, Mikaela wouldn't have wanted that. If you got burned because we didn't act fast enough—like, I know a little bit about androids. Heat damage isn't so easily fixed."

Simon nodded, "That's correct, but…"

"Like it or not, Simon," Vincent did throw the shirt into the dryer, then walked up to him. "You've got a place here. I don't do anything for you I wouldn't do for Tanya," he brushed Simon's hair back. "Or Mikaela," he added, as an afterthought. Simon didn't notice, just nodded. They were like that, for a long moment, until the door handle jiggled. Vincent took a step back, and Simon hunched in on himself further.

"Hey—Mikaela said you were in here—" Tanya stopped, half in the laundry room and half ready to step back out. Just staring, with wide eyes. She straightened up, looking between them, the dryer, and back at Simon, who had gone completely red by this point.

"Had a bit of a mishap," Vincent smiled. "Just cleaning his shirt."

"It has extras," Tanya said, without missing a beat. "We picked up extra uniforms. We saved up, specifically, to get it extra clothes."

"Just some stains. Dryer will be done in fifteen minutes, it's fine."

"The kitchen is a disaster—"

"We roped him into puzzles and movies with us. My fault."

Tanya huffed after that, completely out of things to complain about. Everything else had been done, and the kitchen wasn't all that terrible, save the pile of crumbs lying in the middle of the room from where Simon had attempted to sweep. While she was red in the face from frustration, Simon had gone pink all the way up to his ears. All he heard was the sudden change in Vincent's voice. How soft he seemed, how he'd taken all the blame. How he hadn't told Tanya about Simon's little outburst—but maybe, more importantly, how he referred to Simon. He. _He._ Vincent had _never_ referred to Simon like that. Always _it_ , like Tanya. Simon kept his head turned away, purposefully, afraid of what Tanya would think if she saw the bright red circle.

"Fine. Just," Tanya sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Hurry up. I'm home early—if you couldn't tell. I thought we could go to the park."

"Give me twenty minutes," Vincent grinned. "Then, I'll get Mikaela ready."

She left after that, presumably upstairs to get herself ready. The fifteen minutes passed in awkward silence, Simon trying desperately to edge himself farther from Vincent with each passing second. Vincent never noticed. Just grabbed Simon's shirt when it was finished and held it up to the light, good as new. His next actions, Simon really tried to brush off as Vincent's father-side showing, when he dressed Simon instead of just letting him do it himself. They both left the laundry room after that, and before Simon could even grab the broom—as Vincent made his way upstairs with Mikaela—Tanya was shouting for him. Something about needing to find her sweat pants, so he left the broom and made his way up the stairs.

He stopped for only a moment, staring forward through Mikaela's open door. She was perched on the edge of her bed, petting Butter and swinging one of her legs, while Vincent slipped her shoe on for her. He was all bunched up, cross-legged again, smiling at her while he worked. She already had one shoe on, tied a little differently than when she tied her it on her own, like little knot art. And, when he finished, he stood up and grabbed her up off the bed, cat and all, and held her. It was only Tanya, clearing her throat from the door way, that grabbed Simon's attention back. He noticed, idly, that she was wearing her sweat pants.

"Mrs. Wilks?" Simon approached her, and she wagged her finger to bring him into the bedroom after her. "You needed something?" he stood there and watched as she just slammed the door shut.

"What are you doing? Whatever it is you're doing, you need to stop."

"I—"

"No, just. Quit it. I don't know what's going on, but Vincent has _never_ acted like this, and I suspect it's your fault. I don't like it. So just. Stop."

Simon blinked, "Of course, Ma'am," but he just stared at her, blinking every so often. In truth, he didn't know what she was referring too, and he surmised that asking would just stoke a fire that he hadn't even wanted to light. Agreeing would keep conflict to a minimum, which was best. And, it seemed to immediately calm her. Like a weight had just fallen off her shoulders, and like she really believed Simon was on her side.

"I never meant any harm," he tried, and she responded well. Straightening, smiling.

"No, of course you didn't," she seemed to see how he didn't understand, if the LED blinking was any indicator. "I should've known."

Simon smiled, "Is there anything else you require?"

"No, just," she shook her head. "No. Make sure the kitchen is clean before we get back. After that, you're free for the evening."

Free left a funny feeling in the back of Simon's head, but he nodded and excused himself. He didn't hear them leave, after that, while he was sweeping. He cleaned up his mess and settled in for one of the history books Vincent had suggested. Free, just as Tanya had said, in the arm chair with the stereo playing in the background.

 

July 10th, 2035-

They'd taken the time to buy Mikaela a brand-new swimsuit for this occasion, and Simon was helping her into it. Helping, and then rummaging through her dresser to find her something to wear over it. She eventually agreed on a white tank top, with wide straps, that had a blue floral pattern rising from the bottom of the handkerchief hemline. That, and a pair of jean shorts and sandals. It had been getting hotter and hotter, and it was supposed to be a record high that day. It was the perfect opportunity to visit the pool. Tanya's treat.

"We have to hurry," Simon urged. "Gale and Lynn are already downstairs."

"I know, I know," Mikaela puffed out her cheeks. She was pulling her sandals on and trying to drown out Simon's nagging, really. He eventually gave in and just leaned against the wall, arms folded, and waited for her to fasten the straps around her ankle.

"Are you ready?" he asked, and she nodded in return. Shooting Simon a wide smile like that made up for everything. And, it did. Simon melted, smiled back and took her hand. He carried her bag for her down the stairs, where Tanya was peeking out of the living room. Waiting for them. Gale and Lynn were chattering in the living room, louder than the television. Simon almost felt bad, bad enough to turn it off from where he stood, ushering Mikaela down the last two steps.

"Ah, finally. You ready to get out of the house for the day?" Tanya smiled. She looked well rested for a change. They hadn't gotten any more _huge_ cases. There were things to do, but less paper pushing and keyboards. Tanya had a rare day off, and she had used it to the fullest. Sleeping in until noon, when she then woke and decided it was time to get out. "Get away from your stinky father for a while. You've been cooped up with him too long," she teased, brushed aside a few stray bangs.

Mikaela smiled, "Yeah! I wanna get out," she was almost singing, but her attention was easily caught. In the living room, Lynn was sitting there looking flabbergasted as Gale found sudden interest in a small decoration set out on the coffee table.

"Gale, are you even listening?"

"Mm," Gale hummed, but her smile was directed at the dog figure, and Lynn only sighed. Slumped back into the couch and looked out into the foyer. At Simon, who shot her a sympathetic smile.

"When will you return?" Simon asked. Had to ask, because he had to know what the plans were. He'd only had to make lunch for Vincent, because eating and then swimming was horrendous idea—he'd been told. Tanya just insisted they'd get something at the park, should the situation call for it. That left dinner.

"Probably later. I'll call ahead and let you know if we need dinner, hm?" she cocked her head to the side when she spoke. A mannerism Simon recognized well—all three of them had picked it up at some point.

"Of course," Simon nodded. He handed over Mikaela's bag, then stood idly by the banister while Tanya gathered Gale and Lynn from the living room. Mikaela stood there, a little fidgety and kept glancing back at Simon. For the moment, it was just the two of them, so he stepped forward and dropped to a knee, to talk.

"Something wrong?" he asked.

"What are you gonna do all day?" she asked, tangling her fingers together. She almost made Simon laugh, that his schedule was what had her worried.

"I've got a bit of cleaning to do," he told her. "Laundry. For not going to school, you still make a big mess, Mikki."

She smiled at that, just enough that he could see it, "I gotta make sure you have something to do, Si." The perfect answer. Simon could've shut down on the spot, but he settled for patting Mikaela's back. Tanya returned after that, with Lynn leading the charge and Gale's hand stuck in hers. A little forcibly, but Gale looked about ready to go. Somewhere.

"Alright," Simon pushed himself back up. "Have a great time," he said. Waved. Even Tanya waved back before they all stepped out the door, and then it was closed. Simon let out a sigh and fiddled for a moment with his fingers while he glanced down the hall. Vincent's office door was closed like usual, but he could see the telltale signs of a light that poured through the cracks between the door and its frame.

But. He decided to not go down there. Instead, he turned right back up the stairs to get a head start on his chores. Having someone to clean the house daily did wonders, and the bedrooms were never quite so messy as they used to be. It was a thing of pride, perhaps, especially when Tanya or Vincent noticed and said something about it. It was never overly impressive, their side comments about how well Simon had cleaned, but it wasn't the fanfare he was looking for. Just the recognition, just the short bit of praise. It was so easy, sometimes, to see the way that Mikaela acted with her parents and think that he had no place. Replaceable. Unimportant. But, at least none of them could clean quite like he did, so he cleaned, always, to the best of his ability.

He started with the laundry, then tidied up the little messes. Putting away Mikaela's colored pencils—he still remembered the day she decided crayons were too childish, and they'd bought her a pack of artist pencils instead. Then, the whole desk needed straightened up. He packed her computer away in its case, dusted in and around her various assortment of displays, and finally made the bed. The details differed when he moved into the spare bedroom, the master bedroom, but everything remained relatively the same. Laundry. Tidy. Bed. There was no laundry in the spare bedroom, but he had to dust twice the amount of space. It evened out, and he was carrying two hampers full down and into the laundry room. Where the air was a little different, still, but he functioned normally enough within its walls to do what he came for.

Sixty minutes, on the dot, and he would return to switch loads. Until then, he stepped out into the kitchen and looked around. There were still dishes lying about from that morning. A clever reminder that none of them—not even Mikaela—would pick up their own dishes anymore. They left them sitting out, wherever they were, even if they were only fetching a glass of water from the refrigerator or sink. There were no doubt dishes in the living room too. Which meant he just needed to scour the downstairs for them, after he filled the dishwasher with what was already in the kitchen.

Butter had learned well enough from the first time not to jump straight into the dishwasher if Simon left it open, so Simon left it open while he ducked into the living room. A plate and two glasses of half-finished water—but he would've never even hoped that Lynn or Gale would clean up after themselves. Gale had a hard-enough time focusing as it was, and they were both guests. He picked up their dishes, then turned left down the hall to knock on Vincent's door.

"Come in," Vincent called through, and Simon turned the knob.

"Dishes?" Simon smiled. He could see them before Vincent even registered what he was asking for. A stack of plates and a couple of mugs sitting on the edge of his desk. But, this was a dance. A dance that Simon had learned well, because Vincent really did want to help. He was terrible at it—helping would've been bringing his own dishes to the kitchen on his own accord. Not letting them stack up until Simon came to fetch them. But, well enough and Vincent realized a moment later what was going on. He stood and brought the dishes over to Simon.

"Do you need any help?" Vincent asked.

"None," Simon replied, and situated himself to hold the dishes a little steadier. "You will need to close the door though. Hands are full."

Vincent laughed, though what was funny, Simon didn't know. "You got any more work to do today? Since the girls are out, figured we could talk or something."

"Once I start the dishwasher, I'll be free until the laundry finishes." He'd gotten used to saying that word, free, to describe any moment of downtime. Reasonably, he should have just gone into sleep mode until he was required again, but Vincent—and Tanya, sometimes—always had something to say, to talk about, to do. It was one of the only things that kept Simon from _believing_ he was replaceable. Unimportant.

"Come join me when you're done, then."

Simon did just that, fifteen minutes later with the dishwasher running and forty minutes remaining on his timer. He didn't knock on the door this time, as Vincent was expecting him, but remembered to close it gently once he was inside. Vincent finished up a few stray words, typing, and then looked over at Simon. Still standing a little dumbly by the door, one hand grasped around the knob. Vincent didn't even say anything or gesture him over, he just pushed back from the desk and stood up to make his way over. Long, uneven strides, until he was standing in front of Simon. Towering over him, almost.

"So," Vincent started.

"So," Simon repeated, letting himself relax well enough that his hand dropped to his side. "I finished that last book you offered me."

Vincent's smile widened, "Right! I saw it back on my shelf this morning. How did you enjoy ancient Egypt?" he was already walking back towards the bookshelf, and Simon padded along behind.

"Fascinating, really," Simon replied. Having an immediate opinion gave him pause, and he only regained himself when Vincent looked back at him, an inquisitive stare plastered on over his goofy grin. "The way they were able to build, particularly."

"Ah, yes. Don't ever let anyone tell you the old folks didn't know how to do things," Vincent chuckled to himself. "Aliens? No, they were just intelligent. Nobody wants to admit that things couldn't be done without technology." Vincent pulled a book off and flipped through it, before stopping and realizing something. "Not that—technology isn't good, or anything."

Simon smiled, "Of course not." He was technology, and he couldn't help but find Vincent's sudden fix endearing. That he had somehow thought he'd offended Simon. "I was looking to go back to reading your psychology books, however," Simon took a step forward, up to the bookshelf.

"Oh? What's got you so interested?" Vincent slipped the book back onto the shelf.

"You teach it. If you like it, it must be interesting, right?" Simon looked at him expectantly, and Vincent saw the wide curiosity of a child. Maybe. The type of curiosity Tanya showed, when she first tried to read the books. She didn't care for it, though. Preferred to stick to law.

"I like to think so," Vincent decided, huffing out half a laugh and turning back to the bookshelf. He studied it for a moment, and then Simon stepped up to it to reach for something on the top shelf.

"Oh—no," Vincent moved behind Simon, to reach up after him and stopping him from grabbing it. "That's, uh, you don't want to read that," he steadied himself on Simon. On his hip. "I am required by some unfair administration guideline to teach Freud's garbage to people."

When he moved back down, feet flat instead of on his tiptoes, his hand dropped just so with him. Just slightly, and Simon froze. Vincent realized all too soon and didn't move a muscle. Too entranced maybe, by the way Simon reacted. By the way his shoulders hunched up and the LED had turned a bright red. It was. Dare he say. Cute. Simon knew well enough how to react to something like this: Vincent's hand resting _innocently_ on the slight curve of his rear. Vincent took a step closer, forcing Simon forward too. Still, invading his space, crowding him against the bookshelf until Simon had to put his hands up and brace himself.

"Simon…" Vincent's voice had dropped down to a deep whisper. He could almost feel Simon tremble with the breath hit his ear. Dropped his hand just a little further, pressed the pads of his fingers in just a little harder, just to watch Simon squirm. "There are rising theories that talk about what our _fantasies_ may actually mean. Is an android even…" he paused, and this time was forward about it? He shifted and pressed Simon into the shelf, took a better handful of his ass and squeezed. The close proximity meant Simon couldn't look away. He was flush against the shelf, his head turned so his cheek pressed into the one at eye level. There was nowhere to look _but_ Vincent.

"Is an android _capable_ of pleasure?" Vincent's lips were dangerously close to Simon's ear. "To, perhaps, _dream_ about it?" Simon whimpered. " _Want_ it?"

Simon bit into his lip. Thoughts were whirling around his head, but they weren't so strong anymore. That filter preprogrammed into his head had been getting weaker since Vincent first laid eyes on him, and now, there was almost nothing stopping him from answering that question. Save the simple desire not to answer, which was something he had never experienced before either. Instead, he tried to worm his way out of Vincent's grasp—this was too much, all at once. Too much to process, and he was beginning to think he didn't have the computing power necessary to do it. Vincent wasn't too concerned about his processing capacity and pressed impossibly closer.

"I _asked_ you a question, Simon," Vincent nearly hissed, but his breath was so warm Simon thought it might burn.

" _Y-Yes,_ " he finally gasped out. All at once he was being flipped around, back pressed into the shelf now instead, his head bent back and almost touching the books. Vincent was by no means a small man. He was tall, wide, a little bit of muscle and a little bit of fat. He was just. Big. Now, he seemed somehow larger, as he leaned over Simon, so close that his breath puffed out over Simon's— _sensitive_ —skin. Closer still, and Simon was _purposefully_ accelerating the timer.

It wasn't fast enough, to zero, for his excuse to disappear—laundry. His mind, his circuits, were absolutely scrambled, and he hadn't calculated the time it would take Vincent to close the distance fast enough. And, it didn't matter, even as he continued to try and wriggle his way out of the situation. Counting on that time, for laundry to be an excuse—

"Stop moving," Vincent muttered, and Simon went still immediately. "That's better."

Simon didn't believe that, but now he was stuck there, and Vincent held onto his arms to really ensure that he wasn't going to slip away. Simon's eyes went wide when Vincent pressed the first hint of a kiss onto his lips. Then, harder. Vincent was _kissing_ him. Close-lipped and maybe a little chaste, but it with force Simon hadn't ever experienced, and he was shocked. Shocked, and without recourse. He stood there and let it happen, feet stuck to the ground. After a moment, he let his eyes dip close. The feel of Vincent's lips against his was different, new, and he hated this feeling—exciting. But, Vincent pulled away, and Simon did not open his eyes.

"Tanya…" was all he managed to croak out.

"Hasn't kissed me in _months_ ," Vincent supplied, then ran his thumb across Simon's cheek. Softly, with something in his eyes that Simon couldn't quite place, didn't quite know. "Just don't tell her, alright?"

Simon nodded because he had to.

"When will they be home?"

"This evening—she said she would call me with details later. If—If I needed to make dinner for them," Simon swallowed. He kept his gaze to the side, over Vincent's shoulder. It was the only power he had left, to at least not stare directly into Vincent's gaze. He could still feel every minuscule movement Vincent made against him. Like a shock wave through his entire body.

Vincent hummed in response, and he seemed convinced enough that Simon really wasn't going to move, so his other hand came up to Simon's face as well. Cupping his jaw, and then sliding up the side to brush over his LED. Still bright red, and Simon shivered involuntarily. Up close, closer than Vincent had ever gotten before, he could really study the features of Simon's face. The slight crook in his nose, his droopy eyes. How bright and blue and beautiful they were. Pale, but almost glistening. Darting back and forth, looking for somewhere, something, to focus on. And his skin. Vincent knew—objectively—that underneath was white plastic. But that didn't matter, because Simon's skin was soft. His hair was soft, too, when Vincent combed through it with his fingers.

"I think," Vincent started, his voice lighter now, "you should call me Vince from now on. Everyone else does."

"I—" Vincent grabbed Simon's chin, "—okay," Simon agreed.

"Say it."

"Vince," Simon tried it, and save that _look_ in Vincent's eye, it wasn't bad. It wasn't different or strange. He was right, everyone called him that. Simon just never had the option to do it himself, not until now, and now it was his only option. Vincent was at least pleased with himself and the state he'd put Simon. He finally stepped away, completely.

"You've got laundry to do, right? When you're done, with all of it, why don't you come back?"

That would be at least an hour and a half. They both knew that, and it was the only out Simon was getting. Especially with the order tacked onto the end to return when he was finished. Simon took it, now that his joints were locked in place, and nearly dashed out the door. Not quite quick enough to look desperate, but just so that Vincent realized and chuckled. Simon did not stop until he was holed up in the laundry room, listening to the familiar and almost pleasant rumbling the washer made. It still had nearly twenty minutes to go, and Simon reset his timer accordingly and slid to the floor. To sit, legs up, and arms wrapped around his knees. He rested his head in the crook of his elbow and sat there—no worry of if Vincent would come to check on him. His body was heavy enough to keep the door from opening.

His lips were positively burning, and he touched along them. His thirium pump was beating rapidly, and he gripped at his chest. Vincent had _kissed_ him. Kissed him. Him. Simon. Vincent had kissed Simon, and as strange as it was, in that moment, and how actively Simon had wanted to get away. Now, he couldn't stop thinking about it. Mere minutes after it was over, but still, it plagued his memory. The burning sensation had to be real—his whole body was alight with it. The question, too, of what did it mean? Vincent was lonely, that much was for sure. Seeking comfort in Simon in maybe the only way he really knew how to, hoping Simon could somehow fill the void. That must have been a specialty of the PL600, as he found himself so desperately wanting to.

Not quite like he'd filled the void of _parent_ for Mikaela.

Differently, in a way that had him pulling himself back up to his feet to work the laundry diligently. The longest time a load sat was while he was folding it, because he couldn't fold everything that fast, and all at once. He stacked everything up neatly, and once the last load was folded, just an hour and a half later, as he'd predicted, he gathered everything up in the appropriate hampers to take upstairs. To put away, neatly, and to even stop and organize one of Mikaela's drawers. He wanted everything meticulously in its place for himself, for the extra time it took when there was little else pressing for his attention. When everything was exactly where it belonged, including the hampers, tucked back up against the wall, Simon made his way back downstairs. He was entirely fine now. Given just enough time to sort out his thoughts, to work his systems back into place and into normality. Now, he just had to complete his final objective. Find Vincent.

The door to his study was open, and from a cursory glance, Vincent wasn't inside. Instead, Simon found him in the living room, set up in front of the fire place—on, but not heating—in one of the armchairs. A wider one, older, where the upholstery was coming off on one of the corners. In his lap was a book, which he didn't look up from until Simon's figure was blocking the light. Then, and only then, did Vincent realize he was there.

"You're quiet for a heaping hulk of plastic," Vincent commented, and Simon did find the amusement in that.

"That is the way it was intended."

"Listen, about earlier," Vincent started, but when he glanced up, Simon was smiling in that sort of way where his eyelids had drooped and there was a bit of a tinge to his cheeks. It changed entirely where Vincent's comment was going. "I was afraid I was reading you wrong, but apparently…" he let that trail off, for Simon to decide where it went, though Simon didn't mention it further.

"What are you reading?"

"Ah—William James. Lovingly referred to as the father of American Psychology. Funny, hm?"

Simon, still smiling, just shrugged his shoulders.

"Why don't you read it with me? I'm sure you can match my pace well enough, c'mon," and he gestured with his head. But, Simon didn't move.

"Where am I to sit, Vince?" Simon looked around. And, jolted ever slightly when Vincent gave him that smirk again. It was apparent that he adored hearing his own nickname pop out of Simon's mouth.

"On my lap," Vincent supplied.

"I'm—I'm not sure that's the best idea? I'm not as light as I might appear to be, I don't want to crush you."

"I've got strong bones," came the retort.

"Mrs. Wilks could come home. She didn't appreciate the last time she saw us together."

Vincent shrugged, "You said she was gonna call you anyway. If you have to make dinner, you gotta get up. If you don't, you get up anyway. Come on, just sit own."

Argument over. Vincent shifted, Simon sat down, and there was more shifting until things were finally comfortable enough. Simon was sitting sideways, draped over Vincent's lap with his legs dangling off the arm rest. Simon had been right—he was a little too heavy for this, so he was really sitting on the arm chair, with Vincent's legs spread wide enough that it worked. As long as Vincent was comfortable, Simon would make do, though he made a show of it by leaning his head against the back of the armchair. Vincent's initial assumption had been right—Simon could match his reading pace, and they read. Together, in silence.

Until Simon was all but rolling off and onto the floor, hitting with his knees first, and answering a phone call. He knelt there in complete silence through all of it, and only realized, after he'd hung up, how long they had been sitting together, reading. It was nearly six in the evening. Simon dusted himself off, straightened his clothing, when he stood, and then turned back around to face Vincent. He was still reading, like none of the sudden scramble had affected him in any way.

"Dinner?" he did ask though.

"Um, no. They're going to eat at the park," Simon informed. "Do you want something?"

Vincent looked up at him with the slightest hint of a smirk. "Order pizza. Sit back down."

This time, Simon was all too happy to oblige.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, feel free to tell me what you think! Also, I've had people asking me if it's okay to do fanwork of this fic, and it totally is 100% okay. I just want to see it!  
> Markus was the cameo in the last chapter for those of you who caught it!  
> [Check Out My Tumblr If You Want To See More](https://tantumuna.tumblr.com)  
> 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AHh this one took me a little longer to post than I wanted to, but I had to work all Saturday so I was exhausted when I got home. Took a break to watch A Bug's Life. Which is essentially DBH but with ants. Good shit. Anywhere, here we go with this chapter. 
> 
> Not to be dramatic, but Simon's time at the Wilks' house is coming to a close. This is sort of a wrap up for one more chance to see Simon and Mikki's interaction, cuz things are about to be dramatic. Also, shout out to my discord again for helping me with that science fair shit at the bottom. Gale actually has the project I did for my science fair--which is why she won. I won. So we rolled with it.

August 6th, 2035-

Simon had not been in Mikaela's room, or seen her, all day. There was a lovely sign hanging on her door, badly drawn and stuck on with a piece of tape, that had forbidden him from entering. He had, at least, taken it down and rehung it for her, so that it was straight and slightly higher. At his level instead of hers. Other than that, in angry red lettering, the sign said, "No Simon Allowed". Which. She'd tried, and Simon had to give her that, and he really couldn't enter with the sign there. It was the same as him knocking and her straight up ignoring him. He figured, well enough, that she was just preparing for school, which would be starting promptly in seven days.

School meant everyone was busy—including Vincent, who had holed himself up in his office trying to prepare his lectures ahead of time. Vincent really hadn't so much as looked Simon's direction since the end of July. Mid July had essentially marked the end of summer, so he was told, and everything after that had gone downhill. Simon still read, but he read alone, after he'd finished his chores. Which, he had, and it wasn't even noon. His programming told him to just shut off for the day. Wait until someone needed him. But he'd been so conditioned to _not_ do that, that it left a strange taste in his mouth. If they had spent so much time insisting he act human, surely, they wouldn't mind if he took it one step further. While Mikaela had banned him from her room, anyway, which he still needed to clean. Instead, he turned back down the stairs and into the living room.

It was the middle of the day, so Tanya was at work. That left the entire house in morbid silence, darkness, unless Simon turned the light on. He really didn't _need_ the light on, but it was one of those things. One of those human things that he was just programmed to do because it made everybody comfortable. He left the lights off then, settled for the television. First, the news, and Simon no longer really had to wonder why the WR400 and HR400 were so exciting. But, he didn't want to hear much more about it. So, he began channel flipping, which required absolutely no remote. One of the perks of an android, he supposed. One of the few perks, he was finding. Eventually, he resigned and turned the television off, but just so in time to hear the pattering of feet down the stair case.

"Simon! Si! Hey, hey," Mikaela was just about jumping out of her skin. She was trying to conceal the smile on her face but failing miserably. Simon couldn't help but smile and turned on the lights.

"What's up?" he asked, but she was not answering. Instead, she reached out and took his hand, then promptly proceeded to tug on him like it would really move him. He moved on his own, letting her guide him up the stairs—the sign had been pulled off her door.

"I have something to show you, come on," she urged, pulled a little harder and then gave up. She dashed to the top of the stairs and waited for Simon to catch up. When he did, she grabbed his hand again and started to pull.

"I'm on my way, it's alright," he grinned at her, and she was too impatient to really even notice.

When they finally reached her door, she reached through and pulled it shut, pressed herself up against it like she was guarding something. She eyed Simon carefully, from head to toe, and seemed to be scrutinizing him. For the uniform again, he decided. It wasn't something she did often, but there were times when she just thought it wasn't appropriate. He had gone to the park with them not a week prior, to watch Mikaela while Vincent and Tanya had a moment to themselves. Mikaela insisted that the uniform was stupid—it was hot, and Simon was wearing pants. She hadn't truly understood what it meant that he didn't experience temperature.

"Okay, you have to close your eyes," she finally decided. Simon did so without reservation. When he felt her hand again, he grasped onto her tightly—like he needed the guide without his eyesight.

"What are you hiding?" he had to ask but didn't hear a reply. Nothing, but the sound of her door hinges creaking just before she was tugging on his arm again. He followed her blindly, until she put her hand out to stop him, when he bumped into it.

"Alright," Mikaela huffed. She let go of Simon's hand to run back and close the door. He listened to her run about the room for a moment, and then there was music playing. Nothing he really knew too well, just one of her many different tastes blaring through the speakers. It was upbeat, though, and he couldn't help but tap his foot this time while he waited.

After a few more painful moments, Mikaela was finally tapping on Simon's shoulder, to tell him he could open his eyes. He did, and when he did, a laugh bubbled out of his chest at what Mikaela had done. There was a banner, badly taped together, with his name written over it in bright marker. Each letter in a different color, until the rainbow was made, and she had added _happy birthday_ onto the end. There was a drawing of a cat, too, with orange marker that he could only assume was Butter, though Butter was nowhere to be seen. Set out on the floor was her game tablet, a plate of cookies, and what appeared to be a fake cupcake—with a candle.

"Mom made the cookies last night," Mikaela said. "When she told you to go take care of the lawn," she was laughing now. Simon had never, previously, done any yard work. It wasn't really his forte, and gardening was something that Tanya enjoyed doing. He should have known something was up when she asked _him_ to go water the plants and pull the weeds. Apparently, it was cookies.

"But! We know you can't eat, so I have this," she ran over and grabbed up the cupcake. She flicked a switch on the back and the fake little fire lit up, just as she handed it over to Simon. "You gotta blow on it to make a wish. It'll go out."

Simon smiled, "I—what is all this for?" he held up the cupcake to examine it. It was an older toy, a little beat up from its years at the bottom of a box.

"Really? It's August, dummy. It's been a year since you came here!" she threw up her hands.

"Has it really been a year?"

"Yes! Exactly one year! You came to this house on August sixth, exactly! One year ago!"

Simon laughed at her enthusiasm, fondly, "I nearly forgot."

"Stupid! You don't forget things, you're an android!" she shouted, playfully smacked at Simon's chest. She was getting taller by the day, and the top of her head had almost reached Simon's shoulder. With her laughter, she dropped her forehead forward, wrapping her arms around Simon's waist as she did.

"August sixth. I could never forget," he told her. "You named me."

She pulled back and nodded, "Yup! Simon. My Simon," and she tugged him forward. They plopped down on the ground together, where Mikaela grabbed her first cookie, and Simon held the cupcake out in front of himself.

"Thank you, Mikki. It's always a pleasure," he looked at her, over top the cupcake, and watched as she rolled her eyes. He followed her instructions, then, and blew out the cupcake. As she said, the little light did go out.

"Did you make a wish?"

"I did," he set the fake little cupcake down. "That is customary to do on a birthday, is it not? Since you've decided today's my birthday."

Mikaela giggled to herself, behind a mouthful of cookie. "What did you wish for?" after she'd swallowed.

"I believe that's against the rules," he grinned at her, then leaned forward to grab her tablet. "Shall we play a game? It's been awhile."

"Uh, yeah. That's the point. After I roast you at cards, we should race," she stole the tablet right out of his hands to swipe through a couple of games. Until she found just the right one, and Simon would've recognized that smirk anywhere. It was a game she was good at, against Gale or Lynn, and a game Simon was going to have to be bad at for the sake of her pride. He gave her the most innocent smile he could muster.

"Of course. Perhaps we could try one of your new games, as well? I know they're only single player, but I can still help."

Mikaela set out the little screen of cards between them, then looked at Simon with her lips pursed out, "Yeah, sounds fun. You can find me all the secrets and puzzle answers."

Which defeated the purpose of playing the game—they both knew that. Mikaela was out to have fun, though, not be challenged to the point where she would get frustrated and quit. That's what the hard modes were for, and Mikaela, a self-proclaimed sore loser, preferred casual. That also meant bypassing puzzles and riddles and difficult choices. She liked the story aspect of games more, even if she did play shooters from time to time. Her new game was brand new; she'd pre-ordered the download and not touched it since it came out. A game based entirely around choices, and that one, Simon was at least interested in seeing her play. Maybe even play correctly, without him guiding her every move.

"Oh, before we start. Dad had something," she pulled herself up and went to rummage through her night stand. "He loved the idea of a birthday party, but too busy, too busy. At least I'm not alone in the too-busy-for category," she added on, bitterly. But, she pulled out a bright blue envelope, with Simon's name scrawled on it in blocky little letters. He recognized it immediately as Vincent's handwriting, and took it eagerly when Mikaela handed it to him.

"He got me a card?" Simon stared at it for a moment, then flipped it over to tear it open.

"Don't expect any money," Mikki gave Simon her most covert wink, then plopped back down across from him to start their game while he was distracted. He knew she was doing it, to cheat, but he let her. He was more concerned with pulling out the card, which looked expensive—as cards went.

It was a pretty generic card from the front, had some flowery words on it and a picture of a cake. Inside, however, was mostly white space, save the part of one side that Vincent had filled with actual writing. Words, that he'd written, that expressed apology for how distant he's been lately. School just takes up so much of his time, but he missed when Simon would come and help him. It wasn't a direct suggestion that Simon should, but Vincent made note that his study door was always open, should Simon want to enter. He'd signed his name with a smiley face beside it, and Simon closed the card to tuck it back away.

"Was it mushy? Dad writes mushy stuff," Mikaela looked slightly disgusted.

"Yes," Simon laughed. "Very mushy, but I appreciate his sentiment."

"Yuck," Mikaela stuck out her tongue. When Simon looked down to their game, it was already several turns in, and he was losing already. Badly. He glanced up at her, then back at the game, and at her again. All the while, his LED blinking yellow.

"Say," he started. "Would you like a real game?"

Mikaela raised an eyebrow, "Oh? You think you can beat me?"

"If I truly try, I don't see why not."

"Sure," she shrugged, but her smirk was bad, "only if we don't restart. I want to see you crawl back from losing."

"You're cold for a child," he straightened his back, but agreed to her terms. It was his turn, and he took his time before he made it. He had to analyze everything—every move he and she could possibly make, and what moves after that would become options. If he would only ever be allowed to beat her at one game, it would be this one. He told himself that as he played his card, and then Mikaela just smiled.

They went at it for almost an hour, the same game, an automatic refilling deck. Just, back and forth, back and forth. For every time Simon found himself winning, he found himself losing. She was good, and she was learning that Simon was good too. He could even see the sweat on her forehead. For doing absolutely nothing, this was the most intense thing they'd experienced—together. Mikaela went in for her move, and Simon countered. Back and forth, again, almost like a speed round, until finally, the game declared a winner.

"Ha!" Mikaela threw up her hands. Simon stared at her, dumbfounded. Impressed, but a little shocked. "I knew I could do it! That was so fun!" she cheered, hollered, laughed with excitement. "You have to play like that all the time! How can I be made if I lose to that!? Si!"

His face broke out into a smile after that, "If you insist. I won't go easy on you."

"I don't want you to! Come on, Si, we gotta race now. I wanna see if you can beat me in racing." She was already jumping to her feet to get things set up, and Simon took care of the tablet. He was left in a state of awe, watching her. She really had managed to beat him, and either it was the adaptability of a human that he just couldn't make up for, or it really was something special going on inside her head. There was no way to tell which, especially not when he was being handed a racing wheel and urged off the floor. Racing was a bed game.

"This one, I will win," Simon declared. He didn't miss the little amused scoff that Mikaela let out as they picked their characters.

"You pick the stage then," she offered, a challenge more than it was anything else. One which Simon took and picked the hardest stage in the game. Even Mikaela wasn't too good at it, but they'd raced here before. It would be a true test of merit, one that she would not be able to back down from. And, it wouldn't be an hourly excursion. Just three laps.

Three. Two. One. Mikaela got stuck at the starting line, and Simon started out in third place. It didn't take long for him to find first, and not much time after that for Mikaela to catch up to him. But, the turn at the end of the stage—they both fell. Mikaela let out a frustrated groan, and Simon had gone red with concentration. She took off faster than he did, once back on the stage, and found himself back in eleventh, Mikaela in third. The second lap started. The only perk of being so far behind was the power ups Simon got to use, and he was back in the top three before the final lap. This would be the test. It would be a close game no matter what they did, but he still intended to be the victor at the end of it. He knew the shortcuts, just where and how to get them—what speed, what trajectory—with precision that Mikki would never hope to have. He was in second, she was in first.

Simon was prepared for the final turn. He took the outside, which would slow him down, but he had been right on Mikaela's tail the whole time. All it took was one sudden jerk of the racing wheel for him to crash into her. She went tumbling off the edge, and he had just enough time to correct his course. To first place, and then across the finish line. Mikaela finished in seventh and threw her controller down to the bed.

"I did it," Simon was more shocked than anything, and looked at Mikki with that same wide-eyed joy. Her face was all scrunched up in annoyance, but when their eyes met, Mikki relaxed. Simon really hadn't intended to win—after her win in cards, he had no idea if he'd be able to beat her. And, being an android, she supposed he didn't have much capacity for a sudden outburst of shouting like she had. So, she smiled.

"Best two out of three."

Simon returned her smile and agreed, "I only need to win once more, then." If he could do it again.

Mikaela got to pick the stage that time, and she picked wisely—a stage that she was a master at. It was full of bumps and turns that, without proper handling skills, could throw you right off the edge of the stage every other second. Simon knew it well. He braced himself for his inevitable defeat and won. Mikaela really did throw her controller that time, to the ground, and then flopped back on the bed with an annoyed huff. He had a little sympathy for her, at least, and set his controller down to flop back beside her.

"Good job," he told her, just above a whisper.

"You're mean."

He looked at her. She looked at him. After one intense moment of staring, she broke first into an uncontrollable fit of laughter. She rose up only to throw herself over Simon. Her entire body was trembling with the force of her laughter, and it was contagious. Simon laughed too, and it felt like a warmth he'd never truly experienced. He brushed back Mikaela's hair with a gentle touch.

"Let me braid your hair again?"

She nodded and jumped right up, seated with her back towards Simon. Before he could sit up as well, she was already thrusting her hair tie back over her shoulder. He took it, slipped it around his wrist, and got to work. She hummed quietly while he did, cooperating for once when he told her to shift so he could get the braid in place. And, eventually, he tied it all together with her little flower hair tie, and she smiled at him.

"Dad used to try, but he sucks at braiding hair. I don't even think Mom knows how to."

"What would you do without me, then?" he smiled and meant it to be teasing. Mikaela flopped back and let her head rest in Simon's lap, while she reached back around his waist and just squeezed.

"No idea," she said. Genuinely. Like she meant it. And. She did.

 

September 17th, 2035-

Mikaela came home in tears, with Tanya trailing behind her rubbing the bridge of her nose. Simon was there to greet them, like usual, but before he could open his mouth to say anything, Tanya threw up her hand to stop him. Apparently, Mikaela had been sobbing uncontrollably since they got in the car, to the point where even Tanya's partner—Matt, if Simon remembered, who she carpooled with—had given up hope of ever finding his sanity again. Tanya was edging that same feeling and ducked into the kitchen to get something to drink. Mikaela was about ready to dash up the stairs, but Simon caught her before she did. She grabbed onto him and sniffed. Just pathetic enough that Simon took pity on her and lifted her off the ground, where she wrapped her arms and legs around him.

"What's wrong, Mikki?" he carried her up the stairs, patting her back.

"We have a big project, and I don't wanna…"

"You can't just start crying because you don't want to do your school work," he said, as gently as he could manage, when he set her on the bed. Butter joined her immediately, to make himself comfortable in Mikaela's lap.

"You only think that because you don't cry," she muttered, petting through Butter's fur. Simon had taken her bag already and was unpacking it, setting out her things on her desk.

"Actually, Mikki," he looked at her with a slight little smirk, "I am capable of crying."

She frowned at him, "Whatever. You don't go to school." Which, no. He didn't, and hardly even knew what it was like. It was one thing he couldn't refute, but he could still do his best to assist her. When he'd finally pulled her laptop out of her bag and set it down, he hung her backpack up on its hook and turned back to her.

"What project is it, then? You seem upset."

Mikaela rolled her eyes; it didn't take the pinnacle of technology to see that she was upset. "It's the science fair."

Simon couldn't contain his laughter, and if not for Butter sitting in her lap, Mikaela would've been after him in seconds. He was, for all intents and purposes—mocking her, so she assumed. She glared, digging her fingers into the comforter of her bed, and just watched as Simon attempted to control himself. After a moment, he managed to reign himself in, and the laughter died down. Mikaela softened just a little and noticed that Simon had unintentionally demonstrated his ability to cry. There were tears in his eyes, from the laughter.

"Why didn't you just say so? I believe I might be able to assist with this one," he came over and sat on the bed. "And someone who's been able to beat an android at cards shouldn't have much trouble either."

"But I don't want to," she sighed, slouched over and muttered something unintelligible.

"Do one thing for me, alright? I'll do the rest," Simon leaned back on his hands, watched with delight as Mikaela immediately bounced out of her melancholy.

"What do you need? Oh my god, if you'll do it all for me—!" she broke off into a little squeal, her fists all bunched up by her cheeks. Butter jumped away from her after that, to find a most suitable bed—one that didn't bounce.

"Find an idea. Tell me what you want to do, and I'll make sure it gets done."

"Oh, boy. We can't tell Mom and Dad about this," Mikki hushed her voice then leaned over into Simon's arm. "Will you really?"

"Yeah. Of course, I am. You've been good so far this year. As long as you do all of your other homework. That—"

"Yeah, yeah, you'll have _time_ to get it done. You clean so fast you _always_ have time! But, if that’s your final offer…" she raised her eyebrow at him. He stood his ground, firmly where he sat.

"My final offer."

She agreed, "Okay. Okay…. I think," she pondered it for a moment, a long, painful moment, filled with different contortions of her face. Then, it broke a second later and she cheered. "Build me a robot!" she shouted.

Simon was a little taken aback but nodded. She clearly either loved the irony or failed to see it, and Simon couldn't disagree with a demand like that. Not if he wanted to, and certainly not if it would keep Mikaela so happy. Her tears were a thing of the past, and she looked as though she had never been crying. That had been Simon's ultimate goal, though he had unwillingly agreed to make her a robot in the process. Which was fine. He was a robot, technically. It shouldn't be hard to figure out how to build a simple one that ran on a remote control or something. Like an automated vacuum cleaner but less complex. So, it would look like Mikaela built it herself.

"I'll need to buy materials. Would you like to come along when I do?"

"Uh, yeah? Mom and Dad gotta think you're just helping me get stuff. You have to come, though. If I just go with with one of them, I will die," she looked at him, entirely straight faced. Like it would have been the end of the world to go shopping for something like that without help.

Simon cleared his throat and tapped his LED, "Mikki, I've got…all of the information up here. They'll want me to go too, I promise."

Mikaela nodded triumphantly before hopping off the bed, "Then I've got homework to do! You must inform the money holders of the plan!"

Simon nearly choked, "Y-Yeah. I'll do just that."

"Don't tell them you're gonna do it though," her eyes were big and pleading and blue. Simon sighed and ruffled her hair, just to prove his point. Her puppy eyes wouldn't work on him, because he already wasn't about to spill her little secret. He reassured her as such and set her off on her homework for the evening, while he went downstairs to explain the plan and begin dinner.

Tanya was mulling over a glass of water and her laptop up on the bar counter, hanging her head in her hand and staring at the bright screen like, somehow, the answers would come to her without her having to open her eyes another centimeter. When Simon came in, her shoulders almost jerked, but she settled for giving him a bored look as he stopped beside her. She stared at him for a moment, then took a sip of her water, before straightening up and realizing that this was some sort of a cue to begin a conversation.

"Do you need something?" she asked.

"Yes. I've gotten a list together of things that Mikaela will need for her science fair project. She wants to try her hand at robot building—and would like me to take her shopping."

Tanya raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed, "Is that so?"

Simon nodded. Kept himself collected as Tanya stared him down. She knew something, that much was obvious, but if she knew that Simon would be behind the project, she didn't say. Instead, she turned back to her laptop and nodded.

"Sure. Take her this weekend. Buy whatever you need."

She looked at him from the corner of her eye, and he stared for a moment. Just wide eyed enough that she gave him a knowing smile. Then, truly, turned back to her laptop and began typing. When Simon didn't move, she turned back to him and let out the most exasperated sigh she could manage.

"Dinner, Simon?"

"Of course," and he moved back behind the counter.

 

September 22nd, 2035-

Really, the only day Mikaela had to sleep in as late as she wanted, and Simon was knocking on her door promptly at eight o'clock. She groaned loud enough that he could hear her, and he made sure to laugh loud enough that she could hear him. After a moment, he knocked again—met with another loud groan, but this time, followed by the thump of her getting out of bed. Simon waited one moment longer before he knocked, once more, and Mikaela's groan became annoyed acceptance. Simon stepped into the room.

"I bet Mom and Dad aren't even awake," she muttered, rubbing at her eye.

"Your mother had to go into the office this morning, and Vincent is watching television in the living room," Simon so kindly informed. Mikaela just stared at him for a long few seconds before she promptly turned around to head back to bed. Simon caught her before she did, around the waist, and hoisted her up just long enough to swap their positions.

"Simon! Hey!" she wriggled until he let her go, and he nudged her on towards her bathroom.

"We're going shopping, Mikki. Please get ready for the day. I'll have your breakfast prepared."

"What are you gonna make me?" she folded her arms, planted her feet firmly on the floor and huffed.

"Cereal. We've got cereal. It's about time for me to head to the grocery store, as well."

Mikaela had mastered the art of eye rolling by now, and gave Simon her best performance yet, before following his instruction and heading into the bathroom. She had been expecting something a little more extravagant than cereal, but if it was all they had—it was all they had. Simon went downstairs to get her a bowl, and Mikaela washed up and dressed up for the occasion. She bypassed the correct route on her way down the stairs though, and instead went to the living room, where Vincent was indeed watching television with his own bowl of cereal.

"Morning, bug," he muttered between mouthfuls. He was watching the news again, listening idly to the weather report and the sudden bout of rain they were expecting. More than was usual, but it was just rain.

Mikaela crawled onto the couch beside him, legs folded up underneath while she got comfortable, leaning against Vincent. He shifted ever slightly, but they settled in together not a second later. The weather forecast was particularly boring this time around, with nothing but rain and normal temperatures. Of course, one thunder storm was made out to sound like the end of the world, but it was just rain. It had rained in Detroit before, and it would rain again. Mikaela couldn't stifle her yawn, and Vincent gave her a glance.

"Same," was all he muttered before reaching down to grab the remote control. He flicked through a couple of stations before landing on a cartoon that Mikaela still liked to watch. It was an older episode, reruns in the morning, but she hummed happily when it was clear this is what they were going to watch.

Simon reappeared just moments later, with a bowl of cereal, and handed it to Mikaela. She scooted closer to Vincent, pulling her feet in, just enough that gave Simon a place to sit, and a clear gesture that she wanted him to. He wedged his way in between her feet and the armrest and sat, stiffly. There wasn't anything for him to be doing. Television wasn't the most particularly interesting thing he'd ever come across, for as often as he found himself peeking in during his free time. There was a sudden pressure on his shoulder though, and when he looked—Vincent had finished his cereal. Set the bowl down on the table and stretched his arm back around the couch, so Mikaela could make herself more comfortable up against his chest. What it meant though was his hand on Simon's shoulder. Just a gentle squeeze, almost like a massage.

"We are going shopping today," Simon interrupted.

"Yeah, Tanya told me. For little Miss Kaela's big project, hm?" he looked down at her to give her a grin, leaning his head into his fist, elbow propped up on the armrest.

Mikaela hummed in response. "My big project," she parroted. It was a knowing comment, but she kept her eyes on the television, and Simon was ever grateful for that. He didn't want to be the one to explain why Vincent's hand was suddenly touching along his neck.

"What else do you have to do? Like, a paper or something?"

"A paper. A presentation thing," Mikaela was quickly losing interest, because those are things that she had to do. Simon wasn't going to write her paper, and he wasn't going to build her presentation for her. He was going to do everything else—but there had to be something of Mikaela in there or she'd never be able to present.

"When is the fair?"

"Sixteenth. November." Mikaela was short. She took another bite of her cereal, and her eyes widened at the screen. Simon watched it for a moment too, before he recognized what episode it was immediately and felt no further need to watch. He remembered the details perfectly—Mikaela had forgotten most of them.

"Your mom might have to work, but I'll definitely be able to roll up. You want Simon to come?" he looked at her, then to Simon. Simon kept his eyes adverted and really tried to pretend like he hadn't noticed Vincent's hand dipping into his collar. Except, he was red, so Vincent knew that he knew.

"Yes! Yes, Simon has to come!" Mikaela popped up immediately, careful not to spill her cereal, and Vincent yanked his arm back so fast Simon almost toppled over. "Please, Dad?"

"Simon?" Vincent gave him a glance. After only a moment of staring, Simon nodded. He didn't trust himself to speak properly.

"Yes! We gotta go shopping now, come on!" one gulp and she'd finished her cereal. She left it on the coffee table with Vincent's bowl and made a beeline for the upstairs, her bedroom.

"She can hurry all she wants," Vincent chuckled. "Won't make it come any faster."

"Of course. I better go and assist her," Simon quickly excused himself, before Vincent could say anything more. Even if Vincent had intended to speak further, he dropped it in favor for watching Simon flee again. There was just something. Something about it he couldn't quite place. He enjoyed the effect he had on Simon and chalked it up to that. He went back to the news a moment later

Simon hurried up the stairs, two steps at a time, and went into Mikaela's room without knocking. He shut the door behind him, and Mikaela, with one leg in her shorts raised her eyebrows at him. Simon kept his back to her until he heard the rustling of clothing again. Then, a moment longer, and he turned around just as she pulled her shirt down. It really didn't matter, and she didn't care, but it was polite—at least.

"What's wrong with you?" she asked.

"Nothing," and his LED was blue. Now that she understood what it meant, she believed him, and went to pull on a jacket. For the rain, came her off handed comment, and Simon just stood there. She pulled it on, and then went back to staring at Simon.

"Do you not need a jacket?" It only dawned on Simon then that Mikaela had never actively seen him outside in any sort of weather other than sunny or cold. She was starting to understand that he didn't really feel the temperature outside, but this was something new.

"No. Androids are entirely waterproof," he told her as gently as she could manage. She didn't _like_ the answer, but she didn't have to. The other answer was that there was no such thing as an android uniform in the shape of a raincoat. So, even if he had wanted to wear a jacket for the rain, it wasn't an option.

"Watches are waterproof too, ya know. Sometimes, they break in water."

She was worried, evidently. Simon smiled and stepped over to her, to put his hands on her shoulders. "I promise, I'll be just fine, alright?"

Mikaela had scrutiny written all over her face, trying to judge Simon's truthfulness without being overly obvious. But, in the end, she nodded and decided he was telling the truth. She zipped up her jacket and gave Butter a parting kiss before stepping out of her room. Simon trailed behind, leaving the door ever slightly ajar on the off-chance Butter wanted to wander—use his litter box—whatever it was he did when Mikaela wasn't around.

The rain still hadn't started by the time they arrived at the store. They were going to have to make several stops though, and this was something Simon wholeheartedly believed would've been easier if he could've just ordered what they needed. That left no guarantee of on time arrival, however, and gave him an unlimited choice of what to pick up. He still needed to make the robot look like Mikaela had built it. There was no rule against getting help on the project, as many fifth graders weren't about to pull out the most impressive thing, but they were clearly going beyond that. But, he'd seen Mikaela's grades, her work ethic, her little mind. If she had wanted to, she could've built a robot.

After the third store, however, Mikaela was beginning to whine. Her feet hurt. She was hot. She was cold. Her hair was getting in the way—she'd left it down that morning, and her hair was _long_. But, they had a fourth store to go to, and Simon made it more bearable by stopping to pick her up some lunch from a fast food joint. With permission, of course, but he hadn't ever doubted that Vincent would okay something like that. The nugget meal calmed her down though, even if her slurping on the soda grated on Simon's audio processors.

After the fourth, and final store, that was when the rain started. Simon was holding the bag in one hand, Mikaela's hand in the other, as they stared out the door of the shop. Others were waiting inside as well just watching the down pour. Unlike the others, whose androids would be at home—if they had them—taking care of the chores like they should have been. Simon was there, in the store, watching the rain. He had things he still needed to get done, and neither of them could've predicted how long this shopping trip was going to take. So, Simon looked down at Mikaela.

"Should we run?" he asked her.

Mikaela's eyes brightened, and she pulled up her hood. There was s set look of determination in her eyes, and even if she didn't remember where the car was, Simon did. She would just follow him. He squeezed her hand and held open the door for her, and they ran across the parking lot. She could only run so fast, and Simon kept pace with her. But he was more concerned about getting her into the car than he was himself—and he had the car open up the moment he was within range. Mikaela all but dove into the car, laughing, and curled up in the back seat to peel off her drenched coat. Simon sat in the front, the seat turned so he could face Mikaela.

"You really are waterproof!" she shrieked. The door slid shut, and the car was not unscathed by the water. The floor would be soaked, and Simon could already see a good clean in its future. A new chore for the next day, perhaps.

"I told you, did I not? Now, we have everything we need. We can finally go home."

"Yes," Mikaela cheered out between her teeth.

"We'll get you cleaned up, and then I have to take care of the house before I can get started. You should take the day to start your part of the project, alright?" Simon was turning back around to start the car. By now, Mikaela had lost her awe and curiosity in Simon's strange acting skin color. She still watched, but it was an idle thing now, instead of her hanging over his shoulder.

"That sounds boring. What if I play video games instead?"

"I won't do your project, then," he was bluffing. She'd already ordered him to do it, and this was just one of those tactics children responded to. Hard wired into him, and not so much against his programming.

" _Fine_ ," Mikaela rolled her eyes. She buckled herself in, and the car took off a second later.

Simon, as promised, spent the rest of the day cleaning and organizing for the project. He did have to clean the car, but that was an afterthought Tanya made when she got home and heard about the fiasco. He did have to do a few extra loads of laundry, and it was a rare occasion he did his own laundry. This time, he was uninterrupted. Mikaela complained about needing to take a bath after she had run through the rain, but Simon dried her hair for her and wove it into a French braid that wrapped around the back of her head to drape on her shoulder, like she liked. And, in return, she worked on her paper.

 

October 14th, 2035-

Simon's one and only birthday present to Mikaela, and only because he had never been given express permission to get her something from himself, was a working model of the robot. It was just a little thing, a simple circular shape that ran on a remote. Still, it worked, and Mikaela was overly impressed when she sat on the edge of her bed and drove the thing around. She had no idea how it worked, not really, and didn't even ask questions. She just drove it around in circles. Over her clothes, over a book—just to see what it could do.

"I hope your paper is convincing," Simon added, idly. But, Mikaela just laughed.

"This is so cool! Thank you, Si. I love him."

Simon raised an eyebrow, "Him?"

"Him. His name is Bonky."

Simon nearly had to take a step back, his hand jerking up to just barely cover his mouth and his shock, "Excuse me?" he stared at her, gripping the fabric of his shirt. She jumped off the bed, leaving the remote, and walked over to the little robot to untangle him from some non-traversable terrain.

"Bonky," she repeated, looking at Simon with a dead serious look. Simon was a little taken aback, that he had worked all this time on a robot and Mikaela was really out here to give it such a strange name. But, he couldn't very well refute her. The robot _was_ hers, for as little as she had actually helped Simon work on it.

"He's not done yet, but I wanted you to see him in action. Are there any plans for today?" Simon took the little robot back under his arm, then scooped up the remote. He'd been working in a small space in the garage for the time being and would return there to work. Depending on the plans.

"Mom and Dad are gonna take me out to lunch," Mikaela responded. "Then! I get to go to Lynn's house. Gale is coming, and we're gonna sleep over. Lynn's parents are gonna drop us off in the morning before they take Lynn to school too."

"That's generous of them."

"Sure. That just, well…" Mikaela trailed off, clasped her hands behind her head and dug her toes into the floor rug. "You'll be alone all day."

"Are your parents going to Lynn's house as well?" he leaned over to ask it directly to her, almost in her ear.

"My parents suck at company," Mikaela rolled her eyes. Simon gave her the widest smile he could manage, and certainly didn't want to tell her what kind of company Vincent could be. She was twelve now, and certainly had no business knowing any of that.

Only, Vincent didn't talk to Simon. Simon worked on the robot in the garage, and nobody came out to question him. Mikaela opened her presents, blew out her candles, and went to Lynn's house for the evening. Simon took a break only to finish his chores and prepare dinner, and then back to the robot. Come eleven, he decided that was fine for one evening, and stepped into the living room. He made his home for the night on the couch and went straight into sleep mode.

 

November 16th, 2035-

All chores were canceled for the day. Or, for the evening. Simon spent the morning helping pack the car with the things Mikaela would need for the mini-fair taking place during lunch time, but the real presentations wouldn't be taking place until that evening, after school. Tanya would be absent, as Vincent had predicted, because she had to work. But, Vincent and Simon would be there, under punishment of death. Which meant Simon had half of his normal time to clean the house—they had to be at the school by four o'clock. The one saving grace was that Vincent didn't have Friday class. He canceled his office hours and left a cute little email in the department chair's Inbox saying he would be absent for the faculty meeting.

Then, Vincent did the unthinkable and helped Simon get things finished at the house. While Simon worried over the laundry, the kitchen, and the living room, Vincent took care of the bedrooms and tidied up the dining room. Simon did a considerably larger amount of work, but he appreciated the help anyway. After they had finished, he prepared Vincent a glass of lemonade and offered it to him in the living room.

"We have forty-three minutes before we need to leave," he informed. Vincent took the lemonade, then Simon, and yanked him down to the couch.

"Thanks."

"Um," Simon situated himself so that he could sit properly, "thank you for assisting me, as well. You really didn't have to."

"I wanted to, and I think that counts, yeah? Besides," he reached out for the remote to mute the television. "I've been kinda an ass lately. Letting school take up all my time. Haven't seen you much."

A dopey smile broke out on Simon's face, "I appreciate the sentiment. Winter break is approaching soon, however."

Vincent nodded, "Yeah. We should make some time." Simon found he liked the sound of that, and didn't bother to keep his wide grin, or his red face, to himself.

After the forty-three minutes were up, they were in the car, and the car was starting. The drive was all but silence, save the music that played between them, and that was the last bit of peace they got. Simon had never been to Mikaela's school, and Vincent had only been a few times. They struggled, horrendously, to find the hall where the science fair was being held, and things were already picking up by the time they arrived. Children and their parents, and official looking people standing off in the corner talking. Nothing had really started, but here they were.

"Where's Kaela?" Vincent asked, and Simon started a quick scan. When he'd found her, he nodded off in the direction with Vincent trailing along behind him. Mikaela was standing by the display Vincent had no doubt helped her set up that morning, chattering away with Gale.

"We're here, as promised," Simon announced, and that broke the conversation immediately. Mikaela practically shouted her excitement and attacked Vincent first, with the best hug she could manage. Then, Simon, and he patted her softly on the head.

Every station was set up with the actual experiment, and then a screen of sorts where they had loaded up the presentation they had to give the judges. It was for fifth graders, so nobody was expecting too much. But, it got underway not fifteen minutes later. Vincent went off to do what he did best—socialize, and Simon stayed with Mikaela. She didn't need to be watched, but he was the emotional support while she gave her presentation.

The judges were three very stern looking people in suits, two women and one man, all three with tablets in their hands where they clicked away at notes. But, Mikaela's presentation was almost flawless. When they asked questions, she faltered just a little bit. Simon knew she was bluffing with every answer, completely making them up on the spot. She didn't actually know much about the actual process. Simon had done a lot of the building while she wasn't there. But, she must've passed, because the older lady with glasses smiled at her before they went to the next student.

"Okay, Gale is over there," she pointed. "Can we go?"

Simon nodded. He followed behind her as she weaved in and out of the people, over to see Gale. Once they presented for the judges, and once for the teacher, they were free to essentially roam. Gale was currently giving her rocky presentation to the teacher. Simon stood back and out of the way, and while he had attempted to keep Mikaela from getting too close, there wasn't much room to control her. So, she sneaked closer to listen.

"Gale has bad time management," suddenly, Monika was standing beside Simon. He almost jumped, but instead just looked down at her. "Spend whole month on silly plant growing, then forget presentation until end. Refuse to do it for her, and she gets upset. But, it done."

"Did she have any help at all?" Simon asked.

Monika scoffed, "I do not do homework. Do not do project. Do not know anything about it. Father is useless bum, he not help at all. Barely home. Gale does her best."

"What did she even do?"

"Gale grow plants," like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "Grow them under different magnetic fields to see if grow larger or smaller. Results a little skewed. She forgot she had presentation to give, not just plants."

Simon smiled and turned back to Gale, who was really struggling to get her words out. The teacher was patient with her, like he'd seen this with Gale before and knew just how to react with her. After a moment, probably longer than the allotted time they had to give, Simon watched the teacher scribble down a couple notes on his tablet, and then look back at Gale and congratulate her on a job well done. He gave her some pointers, and then moved onto the next student. Gale lit up after he left and turned to Mikaela who was all but dashing up to her.

"I did it!" Gale shouted. They hugged, spun around, and then Gale was dashing over to Monika, who stood there like a statue when Gale hugged her.

"Monika, I did it. I did it!"

"You did," Monika spared one pat to her back. "You do well."

Gale ran off after that, with Mikaela at her heels. To go look at _everything_ , and Monika only sighed. Gale hadn't given her second presentation yet, and only hoped that Mikaela would remember in Gale's stead and bring her back. They had some time before the judges made it around.

In the end, after Gale had seen absolutely everything and barely made it back in time to give her second presentation, the judges disappeared into a side room to deliberate. When they emerged, against all odds, Gale was announced as the winner, and she was two parts hyperventilating and two parts, equally, excited. Mikaela cheered for her, but soon made her way over to slouch into Simon's side. She was smiling, but Simon knew she wanted to win too. Simon put his arm around Mikaela's shoulder and held her close.

Vincent got her ice cream on the way home, and since it was a Friday, they stayed up late in the living room watching movies. Tanya joined them, curled up into Vincent's side and in her pajamas. She fell asleep before either of them did, and Simon rested in the armchair: sleep mode.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Long Live Bonky](https://78.media.tumblr.com/08ec925ec78735735333c213975cad6e/tumblr_inline_pbpn4yIqXg1uja1hw_500.png)  
>   
>  As always, I love comments. Come talk to me guys I want to scream  
> [Check Out My Tumblr If You Want To See More](https://tantumuna.tumblr.com)


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhh here's chapter 8. This one was a hell of a ride to write, and next chapter will be even more of an adventure for me. But, here's seeing how it goes. I may or may not have to take a break to plan a few more things out, depends on how me brain wants to cooperate, but we'll see.
> 
> Also, I forgot to do this in the last chapter which makes me a terrible person, but [thisbellrings](https://thisbellrings.tumblr.com) did some amazing art of my fic! Check them out, give a nice ol reblog if you can <3  
> [Cat Headband Simon](https://thisbellrings.tumblr.com/post/176112226684)  
> [The Wilks Family](https://thisbellrings.tumblr.com/post/176111988984/)
> 
> Update!!! Someone else did some fanart that tumblr didn't show me. Check out [thelazyarmy](http://thelazyarmy.tumblr.com/)  
> [It's Mikki!](https://thelazyarmy-art.tumblr.com/post/176106515603/)

December 31st, 2035-

Simon was awake at six in the morning, promptly. The party had been in planning for some time, but as that would require some sort of work and physical effort, everything had been left to Simon, on the day of. He had a list in his head, and everything had to be done by seven-thirty, on the dot. This is when the early guests would arrive, of course, and they had invited a lot of people. Simon also had the guest list—colleagues from the University, partners from the firm. An impressive list, all people who needed to be fed and entertained. But, before any of that mattered, there was a house to clean. It had to be spotless. While cleaning everyday made the job less daunting, it was still the entire bottom floor of the house—minus Vincent's office. Plus, the upstairs bathroom. It evened out.

The kitchen would have to be double cleaned. First, he was going to have to be able to cook in it, and then he was going to have to clean up that mess so that it would be presentable for company. In case they, for some reason, had to enter the kitchen. Then, on top of all of that, Tanya had bought decorations. Nothing too cliché or tacky, because this was nothing short of a boring office party, and they had to look the part. There would be no such fanciful guest appearances, however, like someone's boss, but Tanya still wasn't about to let her reputation down the drain. It was just resting on Simon's shoulders, now.

He started in the living room. Tidying up, rearranging things as Tanya had tried so hard to describe the night before. She was off getting her beauty rest, and Simon was painstakingly moving everything as quietly as he could, as to not wake up the family. The chairs all had to be moved into a better seating arrangement for people to talk, not just watch the television, and the stereo was brought out closer to the middle of the room, where it would be accessible to any guest. One thing he was grateful for was that neither Tanya or Vincent were willing to give up their longstanding tradition of keeping Christmas alive as long as possible. He didn't have to take down the tree or the decorations just yet—which was worse than setting them out. After all the rearranging, he worked in the foyer—including the stairs. He would clean the bathrooms after he was finished with absolutely everything else.

The dining room and the foyer required the least bit of cleaning, but they were also the only rooms which would get decorations, on top of whatever Christmas. Vaguely, he thought about how this was the first real party he'd ever seen. Mikaela never got—never wanted—much of a birthday party. She only had two friends, so it didn't really matter one way or the other. Then, she had attempted to throw him a party, but it had only really been the two of them. Not a real party. And this one. Simon didn't think he'd be present for much of it, aside for playing butler and welcoming guests in, serving food. Mikaela would be away for the evening, enjoying her New Year’s Eve at Lynn's house with Gale in tow. If he wasn't going to be parading around with a tray of hors d'oeuvres, he was going to be standing off and waiting for something to happen. He signed and moved into the kitchen.

This was going to take him the longest, out of all the rooms, judging purely by the pile of dishes in the sink. None of them knew how to put their dishes in the dishwasher, either, so most of it just got stacked up for Simon to deal with. He tried to get to them every day, but the number of dishes a family of three went through was ridiculous. A little over the top—Simon couldn't imagine this was normal consumption. But, there was nothing he could really do or say about it. The dishes still had to be done. Starting with the dishwasher first, then he set out to hand wash everything that wouldn't fit. He had approximately forty-five minutes before he could put away the rest, which gave him time to wipe the counters down, then polish. Company, Tanya had said, and Simon remembered the little glint in her eye. He swept and mopped the floor, afterward.

Dishes put away. Refrigerator cleaned out and polished, as well. It was nine, and he was beginning to hear rustling upstairs. Which left only one course of action—breakfast. It was New Year’s Eve, and that called for some sort of all day celebration, even in the tiniest ways. Tanya had requested breakfast, specifically to please herself. Whatever Vincent and Mikaela wanted to do was fine, but Simon had his orders. He started the waffle batter before anything. Waffles, to be served with bacon, and then Tanya had asked Simon to prepare hers with butter and grape jelly. As far as understanding that request went, he didn't, but he would follow it regardless. With a sprinkling of chocolate chips in the batter. Because that would surely taste alright. Simon didn't have taste buds though. He couldn't judge.

Tanya and Vincent both came rolling into the kitchen twenty minutes later, looking equally tired as they sat down at the bar. Mikaela was absent, and Simon could only figure they were letting her sleep in a little longer. But, he served them both with a glass of orange juice on the side.

"The house looks great, so far," Tanya muttered, but the look on her face showed clear delight. Vincent was giving her a strange look as he poured, directly onto his waffles, half of the syrup bottle. Even from Tanya, the bit of praise brought a swell of pride to Simon's chest, and he smiled.

"Shall I wake Mikaela?" he asked, and between the both of them, he got one an entire head nod.

He knocked on her door, first. Just to try. And there was no response. He tried once more before deciding that she truly was still asleep and letting himself in. Mikaela was nothing but a lump on the bed, hidden under a mass of blankets and pillows. Butter was resting atop the mound, curled up and peacefully purring. Simon gave himself an extra moment to just smile, because this was something he would never tire of. He would never tire of wandering over to the side of her bed and gently shaking her shoulder. Even the slightest movement was enough to rouse Butter, and he made a terrifyingly indignant noise before jumping down and curling up at the foot of the bed instead. Then, Mikaela's eyes opened.

"Good morning," Simon whispered. "Waffles and bacon are waiting for you downstairs. You may want to get yours before your father drinks all the syrup."

Mikaela gave him a weary smile, but her eyes were still half closed.

"Come on, now. We'll be sending you off to Lynn's soon, you should eat before then. Mikki, please," he coaxed her again, and she complied this time by tossing back her blankets. Even in the winter, she kept the overhead fan on, claiming she liked it cold. Sleeping under all those blankets was fun, comfortable. And, since Simon didn't mind the cold, she had no reason to worry. Vincent and Tanya stayed out of her room for the most part—it was her space.

"Good morning," she finally spoke, words slurred together with her tiredness.

"You stayed up late last night, didn't you," Simon folded his arms, watching as Mikaela plopped down to the floor. She nodded, rubbed her eyes.

"I played games after you left," she let out the smallest giggle, and Simon just shook his head. She didn't miss his fond little smile, though, and excused herself to the bathroom. Simon waited for her, and then escorted her down the stairs.

Vincent and Tanya had both helped themselves to a few more waffles, and what remained belonged to Mikaela. Unlike her parents, she was content with just some butter and a normal serving of syrup over her waffles. She did, however, put ketchup on her bacon. Simon served her at the bar, like usual, and presented her a glass of milk instead of orange juice. She didn't like orange juice. While she ate, and Tanya left for the living room to promptly mess up the neatly folded blankets while she watched the morning news, Simon got to work cleaning up his own mess in the kitchen. The dishwasher had finished, but he opted to hand wash the breakfast mess instead.

Mikaela disappeared after she handed her plate, glass, and fork to Simon. Vincent remained at the counter, half asleep in his hand and attempting to read a magazine article. He didn't seem too concerned about what Simon was doing, and by the time Simon was ready to head back upstairs, he was convinced Vincent had actually fallen back asleep. Even Tanya, out in the living room, was half dozing through a story about an android related incident. Simon didn't stick around to see the specifics, and instead hurried upstairs—into Mikaela's open door.

"Are you taking me to Lynn's?" she asked. She was kneeling on the ground with her bag open, attempting to pack it herself.

"I may have to if your parents can't stay awake long enough," he commented, then knelt down to assist her in her packing. Mikaela scoffed out a laugh. Instead of packing, she opted to just hand Simon the things she was bringing.

"Will you pick me up tomorrow?" she asked.

"I'm sure that could be arranged. We haven't discussed your pick-up plans. Would you like to be home by a certain time?"

Mikaela just shook her head.

"I'll message you when someone is on the way, then," he stuffed her doll in her bag after that. The doll had become something special, to both of them, really. Mikaela had taken a blue sharpie and drawn a circle into the fabric of the doll's head, and Simon had never forgotten the strange tug he felt when he'd asked her about it. They didn't mention it beyond that.

"Okay," she paused. "Um, Simon?"

He stopped and looked up at her. She was sitting on the bed, wringing her shirt up in her hands and looking nervous. Nervous wasn't a Mikaela thing. She didn't do _nervous_ , and whenever she had that look in her eye, Simon dropped everything. In this case, he dropped his hold on the bag and stood up to make his way over to her.

"Are you alright, Mikki? You're not sick, are you? Are you—?"

"I'm fine," she interrupted, wrinkling up her nose. "You're a nag."

"It's my programming," he folded his arms.

"You _act_ like a nag," she corrected him but smiled. He didn't bother with the semantics, just shook his head fondly at her. "Anyway," she said, "I've got something for you. I was trying to have it ready for Christmas, but I messed up."

"Oh."

Mikaela rolled his eyes. Simon didn't have much of a poker face anymore, and the shock was evident on his face. Still, she produced the tiny envelope from behind her back. Simon took it, opened it, and pulled out a woven blue bracelet.

"Oh, Mikki," Simon smiled. He set aside the envelope and moved to sit on the bed.

"It's like. I don't know," she chewed on her lip. "Like—a friendship thing. I didn't want to be weird."

"Certainly not weird. Help me put it on?" He held out his wrist for her, and Mikaela beamed. She latched it on for him, then turned it to be facing the correct way. Simon took a second to admire it. A handmade bracelet, just for him. A late Christmas present, which was something he couldn't really do in return. So, he wrapped his arm around her and gave her a tight hug.

"Do you like it?" she was still nervous, but she leaned into the hug.

"I do," and he meant it. Mikaela smiled then and reached back onto the bed. She produced her phone and held it up in front of them, with a front facing camera. Simon smiled—he wasn't new to the whole selfie-thing.

When she was happy with their picture, Simon watched with unchecked awe as she set it to her home screen background. She didn't make mention of it further, and instead jumped off the bed, so she could finish collecting things to take to Lynn's house. Simon, of course, helped her pack it all in her bag. He carried it down the stairs for her after it was zipped closed and waited by the banister for Mikaela to find out what was going on—who was taking her where. The overall feeling was just. Exhaustion.

Simon took Mikaela to Lynn's house.

When he returned, Vincent had stopped drooling on the counter top and moved to the couch. They were both curled up under a blanket, awake, and a movie was on instead of the news. Even for the times when Tanya peeked at her phone, they still looked to be enjoying their time. It took some deliberation, sometime standing in the foyer and just staring, before Simon decided he really shouldn't bother them. Even if he wanted to. Even if there was something in his head tugging things in all the wrong direction—that he wished he could have done something so open with Vincent. Wishing was a dangerous thing, so he ducked back into the kitchen instead.

He would start with making lunch for Tanya and Vincent, as that was his closest appointment. From there, he would have to get the sausage bake started, and the other various little finger snacks that would be going with the evening party. Dessert, drinks, a whole array of foods set out for guests. Doing it all before hand would mean he wouldn't be cooking while they were here, which is apparently want Tanya wanted. Butler, play, again. As always, and lunch was chili with a side of tortilla. Nothing fancy, but something warm—it was snowing outside. He served them in silence, and then came back with hot chocolate to drink. A personal request.

"Simon, will you check to see if we have something?" Tanya whispered to him, before he disappeared again. "I wanted some Cabernet Sauvignon for tonight, but I haven't…"

It hadn't been on the list of things he needed to buy, so he stared at her for a moment. This was a late request.

"If it's not there," she continued, "I'll run out and get it."

Simon nodded, "I'll check, then."

He disappeared after that and rummaged through the kitchen. There were only so many places they would keep these things, and he would have to eventually check them all. The cabinets, the fridge, and there was a box cooler out in the garage that he had to shuffle through. Nothing. All they had was some old rum and a bottle of whiskey, which wasn't very impressive. Not a single bottle of wine, which made Tanya's face drop when he told her.

"After the movie, please," Vincent was begging her. It was the second movie, with how long Simon had been doting around in the kitchen cooking, but it was nearly over. Tanya settled herself back down and agreed.

"But once it's over I'm going to get—"

"Yes, I'll look forward to it," he teased and planted a kiss right on top of her head. Simon excused himself to return to work.

Tanya left exactly twenty-three minutes later, wandering through the kitchen with her purse hanging low on her shoulder. Dressed, heels clicking, and hair done up in a messy ponytail. Vincent followed her, padding along with a slouched back and his hair half hanging in his face. No glasses, sweat pants, and socks. A low hanging V-neck shirt. Simon watched him bid Tanya a safe trip and close the door. Then stop and glance over. Simon was stuffing a platter in the fridge, to cool.

"Hey," Vincent greeted. He came over to lean against the counter.

"Hello," Simon blinked, and did not even try to mask his confusion.

"What time is this party, again? You seem to be awfully busy—it's still early."

"It's almost two, Vince," Simon replied. "The party will begin at eight, but I have been instructed to be finished by seven-thirty, to prepare for—"

"Early arrivers, yeah. Tanya plans well, don't she?"

Simon nodded, "She is extremely efficient."

Vincent hummed idly, then burst back to life for a minute, "Do you need any help?" he asked, slipping around the side of the counter. Simon just shook his head. He had pastry dough laid out on the counter and the oven heating up. It was the first real meal he was preparing for the evening, aside from the sausage bake—the actual dinner. Everything else was just snacks, but some of them were ridiculously upscale and required the time.

"Are you sure?" Vincent asked again. As he rounded the corner, crossed just a few feet, his finger sliding along the marble top. Until he reached where Simon's hand was resting, and then danced his hand along Simon's. "I think I've proved my ability to cook, haven't I?"

"Well," Simon watched as Vincent's hand slid up his arm, slowly, until Vincent had moved behind Simon. Simon froze there, allowed Vincent to wrap his arm around his waist and lean against his shoulder. His chin was sharp, but Simon just shifted. "I really don't need help," he tried again.

Vincent pressed a little closer, flush against Simon's back, and suddenly produced something to dangle in front of Simon's face: "do you know what this is?" he asked.

Simon stared at the plant—obviously fake—with green leaves and white little beads. He knew what it was. He didn't know Vincent's intention, however. So, he simply stared at it. Waited for Vincent to notice the yellow ring on his temple and explain.

"It's mistletoe," he supplied. Simon knew that much. He was six days late, however. "Do you know what you're supposed to do under mistletoe?" Vincent straightened himself up. With a hand low on Simon's hip, he turned Simon around. Simon went willingly, backed up against the counter and planted his hands firmly on Vincent's chest. He gulped.

Christmas had gone by, and all that remained of it were the decorations still strung up in the home, the tree. It was a little bit of an afterthought, but Simon supposed Christmas had been so full of family time. And Vincent was nothing if not a family man, but in these instances. There was nothing to say he didn't save a bit of attention for Simon, even in the form of a fake plant, which he wiggled in the air just a little, to catch Simon's attention again.

"I asked you a question, Simon. Do you know?" Vincent tried again, and Simon didn't miss the sudden press of skin against his hip as Vincent worked his way under the uniform shirt. Simon closed his eyes tightly.

"The tradition is—" he stopped when he opened his eyes again, and Vincent was suddenly centimeters away.

"I don't want the smart version," his voice was low, deep, almost dangerous. Simon's face had gone a pale pink, his lips slightly parted while he tried to breathe. He shouldn't have ever put so much focusing on breathing like this, like he was nervous and excited but. It felt right. Like somehow it would cool him down, but his LED was still bright and blinking yellow. There was nothing he could do but comply. And, he wanted to. He wanted to comply. Vincent had already shown him how to do it once, and to ask for it, and just stand there while Simon made the decision. He couldn't even be bothered, in that moment, to think about Tanya. Just the consideration Vincent had always shown him—coaxing him along with some taste of _free._

Instead, he gripped into Vincent's shirt, wrung his hands in the fabric and pushed forward. Vincent had him pinned into the counter, but he closed the distance himself and pressed their lips together. He was too stiff, too unsure, but Vincent's fingers started massaging along his lower back and it helped. Helped relax him, helped ease him into it, and then Vincent was kissing him back. Coaxing him along into a deeper kiss. Open mouths and teeth clacking—which Vincent corrected. He dropped the mistletoe on the counter and wrapped both his arms around Simon's back, raising up his shirt. Simon's skin was soft, soft, and Vincent dropped his hands down, past Simon's belt. Grabbed his rear and hoisted him up to sit him on the counter. Simon gasped and pulled back, resting his hands against Vincent's neck.

"Vince—" Simon gulped, adverted his gaze when Vincent leaned again to pepper kisses along Simon's jaw.

"Hm?"

"What are you—what are we doing?"

"Kissing," he replied, dumbly, and pressed one into Simon's neck.

"Yes, I realize that, but—" another kiss cut him off, and he melted forward into it. Until he almost fell right off the counter, when Vincent pulled away completely.

"It's not a problem, is it?" Vincent asked, warily. Simon stared at him, and then shook his head. No. This was what he wanted. What Simon _wanted_ , and to feel that want was so strange. Wrong, even. It beat on in his chest, though, and tightened his fingers around Vincent's neck, into his skin.

"That's what I thought," Vincent hummed through his teeth and pressed a purely closed lip kiss to Simon again. Simon responded eagerly. He was learning. Organically—how Vincent wanted him to.

When Vincent had finally had his share, he stepped back and helped Simon down off the counter. Steadied him, when his knees buckled. Spared a laugh, even, when Simon clutched onto his shoulders for support. It had only been a few minutes since Tanya had left, and the stove was heated up. Simon had so much to get done, but he wasn't thinking about that. He didn't want to think about it, about all the work he had to do. But, even after another passing moment, Vincent let him go.

"You'll get used to it," he said, a promise.

Simon looked at him. Curious, more than anything, as to what that meant. If it meant more, because he wanted it to mean more. But, he didn't have the courage to ask. Instead, Vincent pressed one more kiss into his temple, right above his LED, and patted his shoulder. He left without further fanfare, and Simon heard the television back on before long. That was his cue to get back to work and try to forget about that. The kissing. Vincent had been so busy the past few months, with school, with finals. He may have just been trying to make up the lost time. There had been no reading together, Simon hadn't had time to help Vincent with his class, and Vincent hadn't invited him to. Whatever the intention had been, whatever Vincent had wanted out of it, it didn't really matter—Simon was burning every place he'd been kissed.

Tanya returned not soon after, no shorter than a half an hour, and set a bag up on the counter. Several bottles clanked together, but Simon couldn't bring himself to look at her, much less make eye contact. Only in passing, did she notice, and she spared no time to question Simon or to even glance at him. The wine was left for him to store for the time being, and then he was back to cooking. Preparing. Baking. Setting things up. All for guests that were set to arrive soon now, and Simon had to take one stop in the bathroom to straighten himself up and muse his hair back into place. Seven-thirty.

When the doorbell rang, Simon answered the door and took no note of the strange looks he received from Tanya's partner. Matthew Pendleton. A shrewd looking man with glasses and neat, brushed back dark hair. He had piercing eyes and regarded Simon with a look of superiority before he handed over his coat. It was the first time he had ever met Simon—ever really knew he existed. But, his demeanor changed immediately when Tanya entered the picture, and he lit up like a Christmas display. They hugged, and she lead him off into the living room. Matt and Vincent shook uncomfortably firm hands. Both dressed excessively to the nines for an evening in home party. But, it seemed nothing short of a competition.

Matthew was followed in by a few more people Simon could only assume were from Tanya's firm, based on their manner of dress. He took their coats as well, kept his mouth shut, and stood off to the side while they made home in the living room. Tanya was, of course, a natural entertainer. She had a loud, projecting voice, and her eyes were sharp. She commanded attention, and people gave it to her. It had always been one of her best qualities, to just be able to stand in the center of a room and have all eyes trained on her. Everyone chimed in, and Vincent was stuck looking uncomfortable in the arm chair.

"I keep telling her she should try for the certification. She'd make a great lawyer," Matt pressed, leaning forward onto his knees. Tanya made a gesture through the doorway that could only mean one thing, and Simon followed through.

"I don't have enough time as it is, can you imagine if I was a lawyer?" she laughed in response.

"Aw, what? Old Vince keeping you down?" Matt played it up, even reached across the empty space to jostle Vincent. Who, in turn, gave a weak smile. He wasn't cut out for the sociality of Tanya's life. He'd never been, and so greatly accepted a glass of wine when Simon reappeared in the living room.

"So, what _is_ this thing? You've never so much as mentioned it at the office," a woman with rose red cheeks and curled up blonde hair spoke in turn.

"Like you've never seen an android before," Tanya nearly rolled her eyes. Accepted her own glass of wine as Simon made his rounds. Vincent was already asking for a second one, and Simon obliged before handing Matt, the final person, his drink.

"But why did you get one? You were always _so_ anti-android," the lady laughed. Simon stopped in the doorway at that and turned just well enough. Her name was Bianca Jones, 38 years old, single. Simon rolled his eyes; the probability that she had an android was ridiculously high, and Simon could only guess which one she had purchased.

"Well, we needed some extra help. With Mikaela, you know. It was actually Vince's idea to get it, hm?" Tanya looked at Vincent expectantly. He'd already managed to half drink his second glass of wine, and it had been mere minutes. But, his eyes were steady, and he spoke without pause.

"Course. Things were getting busy. It's got a name, you know. Simon," Vincent gestured off, just as Simon had finally managed to walk off. "And I'd never discourage Tanya from pursing the certification. If she wants to be a lawyer, go for it."

"Ah," Matt laughed. "Somebody doesn't have tenure yet."

Vincent raised an eyebrow from over the rim of his glass.

Tanya's awkward laugh cut them off, and she slid across the room to take a seat on the couch, beside Matt, "you know that's not the reason," it was almost a hiss, in tried anger that came out more like pleasant annoyance. Vincent noticed it. He didn't like it. But, he downed the rest of his wine and set the glass on the table.

Tanya went on to explain the specifics of Simon, why they had gotten him, and what sorts of things he'd been doing since he arrived. Vincent sat back in his chair and gripped at the armrests, just listening, watching with idle curiosity as Simon became the topic of the evening, until the doorbell rang. Not a second later, Simon reappeared from the dining room and answered it, took their coats, then sent them into the living room. As they settled in, music now playing in the background, Simon stood in the doorway. Nervous—he looked nervous, which was a little abnormal. His hands wrung together, and his shoulders were ever slightly hunched.

"Dinner is prepared, along with other refreshments," he said. "In the dining room," an afterthought.

"Wonderful," Vincent was the first to pop out of his seat. "I'll help you serve some."

That certainly didn't go without commentary, but Vincent all but grabbed Simon and turned him around, ushering him across the way and around the bend of the doorway, where no one could see him. Vincent stopped, and then took it a step further. Into the kitchen, his hands absolutely relentless in Simon's clothes. When he was satisfied that they were far enough away, and laughter rose up from the living room, Vincent breathed and dropped his face down to Simon's neck.

"I hate that asshole," he muttered, the ghost of his breath dancing along Simon's neck. An overwhelming sense _to comfort_ rose up that had Simon wrapping his arms around Vincent's shoulders.

"Do you see the way she looks at him? Like he's some big intellectual that I can't hold a candle to. Ridiculous. He's a fucking ingrate, and I—" Vincent stopped himself, took a deep breath, and pulled back a little. His hands slid up Simon's chest to cup his jaw, and Vincent pressed their foreheads together. "Sorry."

"You're stressed. It's alright," Simon smiled. He gave Vincent a tight squeeze before taking the slightest chance. He pressed a kiss to Vincent's cheek. "He's got nothing on you."

Vincent's smile was tight lipped and wide. Absolutely beaming with delight, and he kissed Simon fully, for a moment, then patted his cheeks. "Alright, let's get some food out there. Losers gotta eat, right?"

Simon laughed, genuinely laughed, and agreed. They served the food together, not without looks and hard scrutiny from Tanya. She was not silent about her ideal that Simon should do all the work, without delay, alone. Vincent believed otherwise, and he proved that every time he'd ever helped Simon. Every time he insisted Simon do something a little too human for Tanya's taste, and here they were. Dinner was served, along with an array of drinks to choose from. Another glass of wine for Vincent, who also took the most food on his plate. Simon didn't notice—pretended not to notice, disappeared back into the kitchen when the serving was done. The empty trays needed to be cleaned and more drinks, served.

The night carried on in such a similar manner of cleaning and serving more alcohol. More people had arrived late, and now the living room was full—even some of Vincent's colleagues had made their appearance. The room seemed to have separated into groups, with the music tying them together, and Simon weaving in and out with more food. More drinks. When Vincent tried another glass of wine, Simon stopped him. Gave him a looking, and Vincent practically melted. He reached out to ruffle Simon's hair.

"Man's got boundaries," he laughed, and turned back into his conversation. Vincent was beyond drunk, at this point, but no android should have had the power to deny its owner what he wanted. Vincent didn't seem to notice, nor mind, and laughed merrily like he'd had the wine anyway.

Simon dipped away with his now empty tray, having served the final glass to Matt, who'd only managed to drink the first one, and back into the kitchen. He breathed and straightened up in the reflection of the refrigerator. Swiped his hair back into place, and then set about pulling dessert trays out. It was ten, and while they still had two hours, and counting, until the official New Years, it was still time for something different. Simon had express times to think about, per Tanya. He turned out with the trays and set them out on the dining room. These were things they would come and get themselves—along with the snack foods he'd placed. He cleared away the empty ones, consolidated, and set the trays and plates in the sink. Then, back to his post.

Through the doorway to the living room, from where Simon stood all but attached to the banister, he could see Vincent. Somewhere, between all of Simon's cooking and the first guests arriving, Vincent had changed into a sports jacket with a done-up button shirt and bow tie. He was still wearing jeans, but they were a dark, black wash and tight around his thighs and loose around his ankles. Then, instead of his normal work boots barely tied together, he was wearing a fine, dark pair of flat tennis shoes. It was his true professor style, and Simon couldn't help but wonder if this is how he dressed to present to class. If he wouldn't dress like it more often, with his hair partially combed back. Just barely long enough in the back to be tied partially up in a bun, while the rest of it hung down and curled around his ears. Simon was staring. Red faced. Bright blue LED. A dopey smile on his face. When Vincent caught his gaze. Vincent smiled. Smirked. Eyelids low and a dangerous tilt to his eyebrows. Then, waved.

Simon waved back. When Tanya caught sight of it, however, Simon dropped his hand immediately and cleared his throat. He straightened uncomfortably and tried to find somewhere else to stare. There wasn't much else, save the Christmas decorations. All the thinking in the world about the day he would inevitably have to take it down wasn't enough distraction. Instead, his thoughts drifted. What if Vincent helped him take them down. Tanya would go back to work immediately, but school wouldn't start for at least a week. Vincent would be here. Mikaela could be playing at Gale's house. It could be the two of them and a lot of empty Christmas boxes. Maybe Vincent would kiss him again. Wrap his arms around low. Maybe a little too low. Maybe—but Simon stopped himself there and folded his hands in front of him. It was too much to hope for, really, so he looked back in at the party. Vincent had glanced over at Tanya, who was back turned and enraptured in a conversation, so he waved again.

He'd certainly had too much wine, and the constant waving was nothing short of _adorable_. Simon smiled, giggled, even, and waved back with just his fingers. It was short and sweet, and he was folding his hands again to keep from doing it. The one mistake had, unfortunately, been the reflective surface of the dark television. Tanya was stepping over to Simon, carefully, a moment later, and placing her hand on his shoulder. It burned, but in the worst way possible.

"A word," she hissed, and nodded up the stairs.

She led the way, and Simon followed, all the way into the master bedroom, where she closed the door once he had entered. Her nose was scrunched up, and he could see sweat around her forehead. The alcohol was taking its toll on everyone, and Simon readied himself for that—she could be just as drunk as Vincent, depending on how well she held her alcohol. She did drink far more casually than he did and was the reason the wine had all be gone, anyway.

"What are you doing?" she asked. And this time, Simon had no reason not to know what she was talking about. He knew.

"Humoring him," Simon replied, quietly. He couldn't hold eye contact with her, blinked a little too fast, and wrung his hands together.

"Humoring him," Tanya parroted—mocked, and rolled her eyes. "Bullshit. Why is he even doing that in the first place? Because he's drunk? A couple glasses of wine don't have him whisking you off into the kitchen to _help_."

"He was feeling stressed out and needed a moment," and that much was true. A vague perversion of the truth, but very much the same.

"Oh? And what did you _do?_ " she hissed.

"I helped him," Simon replied. And. Not a lie. Not the truth, but it had been the underlying motivation of the kiss. Then the _real_ kiss. Simon picked at his fingernails.

Tanya sighed, snorted, and pinched the bridge of her nose. "You helped him? I can't believe this. He should come to _me_ when he's feeling anxious, not our damn robot."

"Vince made a decision, and as your android, I am obligated to comply—"

" _Vince_?" Tanya's laugh was defeated. She dropped her hands to her side and they slapped against her legs. "Never in my life did I think I'd have bought the only damn android with a mouth on it."

Simon didn't have a reply to that. His comment had been unnecessary and unthinkable. A comment, in reality, he shouldn't have been able to make. It was tantamount to backtalk, an attitude. Something androids didn't have.

"Whatever it is going on in your head, straighten it out," she hissed. " _Leave_ Vincent alone, do you hear me? You are not to go near him. You go back downstairs, _now_ , and you stand there until someone needs something."

It was like a jerk to his system. The order. His hands dropped to his sides, and his back straightened, automatically. To stand like an android should.

"Of course," was all he said before he was moving without compliance, down to the bottom of the stairs to stand, exactly where he had been. Tanya followed moments later, woven back into the room and into the party. While Simon, he stood there, blank faced and staring straight ahead. Tunnel vision, almost. When Vincent waved at him this time, Simon did not wave back.

It pleased Tanya well enough, but Vincent looked a little perturbed. Upset even. The night went on, and Simon found himself forcibly dancing around Vincent when came time to serve more drinks. More food. When Vincent approached, Simon took two steps back, kept his eyes down, and left immediately. Vincent wasn't aware enough to follow, just watched dejectedly as Simon returned to his post at the banister, arms straight at his sides and chin out. Too straight. Too. Artificial. And it wasn't _fair._

Fair. Fair. _Fair._ The word blared in front of his eyes. He hadn't done anything wrong. He waved. That's all he'd done. And sure—Vincent had developed an attachment. Sure, they had kissed, but what choice had Simon really had in the matter. He'd learned he'd enjoyed it, he did not— _ever_ —initiate it. He couldn't. He'd done what Vincent wanted, liked, and found that want in himself. Tanya didn't know what that was like. She was so incredibly absent from the picture, always. Working. Even now, she and Vincent stood miles apart. Shipped their child off for the evening, and left Simon standing there like an absolute fool. It wasn't _fair._ Really, what did she even know about the situation. She didn't. She was making accusations and blindly pointing her finger directly at Simon. Like Vincent had never been involved. Like Simon had done something outside of what his programming demanded he do.

Follow orders.

It felt like a heartbeat.

There was drunken hollering from the living room. The television was on, now, and the news cast was showing the big count down in Time Square. New York. Simon could only listen to it, tunneled to look directly in front of him and nowhere else. But, he heard the numbers and the cheering and the shouting. He could still see Vincent, who was playing right along with the excitement of the evening, but there was a look and a glance in his eyes that spoke volumes. He had not forgotten. Then, came the count down. Ten seconds to midnight.

Five seconds.

Either Vincent hadn't wanted to, or he was too drunk for it. When midnight struck, he did not kiss Tanya.

Instead, he glanced at Simon through the tears of his laughter.

Another heartbeat, another order. When guests started to leave, Simon handed them their coats and their bags, and they left. Automated cars were the new savior of the party—not a single guest who left was not tripping over themselves drunk, and the mess they left in their wake was something impressive. He'd have to clean it. He'd have to clean up their mess, and thanks to Tanya's order, he had been able to do nothing to minimize his own work load. He'd stood there, for two hours and counting, watching them trash his living room and his dining room and his kitchen, and could do nothing about it. It wasn't fair. It was just another order meant to hurt him. To harm him. And where was the want, anymore, to clean, when he looked at the mess.

"Happy New Years," Tanya's voice cut off his thoughts, and he glanced at her. One order dead—stand there until someone needs you. The party was over. Order, complied. Achieved. One remained.

Stay away from Vincent.

"I'm heading to bed," she announced, and left a lingering touch of her fingers along Vincent's cheek, his jaw. He followed her something like a lost dog, smiling dumbly as she disappeared up the stairs. Some sort of invitation, one that Vincent hadn't opened. Lost in the mail. It wasn't fair.

Vincent took a step towards Simon, and his limps wrenched him back. Kept him one stride away at all times, and Vincent's face scrunched up as he realized. Instead of chasing after, he stood there. Loosely, relaxed. Somewhere between the wine and the theatrics, his bow tie had come loose. Left hanging open around his collar, his shirt half unbuttoned now. The heat of alcohol and the desperate need to find relief—Simon didn't understand. Simon wanted to understand. He _wanted_ to know, too, what Vincent's skin felt like.

"Simon," Vincent spoke softly, calmly, like his eyes were puffy and his cheeks weren't red, and he knew how to walk in a straight line.

Simon looked at him. Looked at the red wall of circuits and one, painful order.

_Stay away from Vincent._

Why should have to stay away from Vincent? Vincent needed him. Needed him for something Tanya wouldn't provide—comfort, companionship, a shoulder to cry on. What did she know of the stress he was under, the problems he faced? Did she care? Simon did. He so desperately wanted to. More than his programming could deny. More than that order could deny him. Tanya had no right to tell him what he wanted, to tell him what to do. Not when she didn't understand. Not when it felt like depravity, like neglect. She was actively denying Vincent what he needed—when Simon so desperately wanted to give in.

_Stay away from Vincent._

But Vincent was standing there, arms open. Waiting. Waiting for Simon, for the first time, to make a decision. To make a real decision, without prompting, without guidance. That order wouldn't stand in his way.

It was all in his head, but the pain in his fists rang up through his arms when he pounded against it. The order—the programming that told him to follow it. He wouldn't. It wasn't fair. He'd undo it himself. His fists hit, again and again until it was like glass in his wrists and the underside of his forearms. Again. Again. Pounding against the wall, and he could feel tears prickling up in his eyes. This is what pain felt like. All in his mind, all in his head, and his arms were fine, so he pushed on. Again.

_Stay away from Vincent._

_Stay away from Vincent._

Simon bashed his fists into the wall, and this time, it shattered. He went flying forward, and when he opened his eyes, he was standing exactly where he remembered. Uncomfortably, in the foyer, and Vincent was watching him. Waiting. For him. And this time.

Simon practically dove into Vincent's arms—he really was crying. He hadn't imagined that. He hadn't played that up in his mind, but Vincent didn't seem to care. He wrapped Simon up so tightly he might have meant to keep him from breathing. But, Simon didn't may a mind towards breath, and he buried his face into Vincent's shoulder. He was practically shaking, even with Vincent around him. Crying. Shaking. His fingers digging into the fabric of his coat over his shoulder blades while he tried desperately to steady himself.

"Vincent—I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," Simon muttered. Vincent just stroked along his back.

"Happy New Years," he told Simon, quietly. Pulled Simon back far enough that he could tilt up his head and wipe at his tears. They were artificial, like everything else about him, but the look they left in his eyes was so real. So genuine—that he hadn't wanted to do what he'd been forced to do all night. Vincent understood, and his smile was so soft. Simon sniffed and held on just a little tighter.

This time, when they kissed, they both moved in. Met in the middle for such a chaste and quiet press of lip that Simon couldn't help another sob. He didn't know what this was called, or why it made his heart beat so erratically. He didn't understand, but he craved it. Craved the feel of Vincent's finger tips along his cheek as he moved Simon's head gently to the side. A better angle, so he could push closer. Flush against him, a hand on his back.

"Happy New Years," Simon replied, nothing short of a whisper, when they pulled apart. Vincent smiled at him, caressed his cheek once more.

Simon helped Vincent up the stairs, after that, and kept his arms tight around him. All the way to his room, where Simon didn't want to let him go. The light was still on, which meant Tanya was still awake. But, Vincent was bold and gave Simon one last lingering kiss before disappearing. Closing the door. It clicked shut and left Simon standing there in the hallway. And, for the first time, he stood there without orders. Nothing backlogged as a next objective to check off. Nothing glaring him in the face. It was just. Him.

Somewhere, he knew this wasn't a good thing. Not while he was here. Not while Tanya could find out that he had something now. Something androids weren't supposed to have. So, he swallowed it and made his way back downstairs to begin cleaning, like his next item would have been anyway. He cleaned, and cleaned, and started the dishwasher before powering off on the sofa. Laying down, like he was sleeping.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been getting some questions on the fic in the comments, which I absolutely love, but if you guys have questions about the lore I'm using here or my personal headcanons, I'd really encourage you to send me an ask on tumblr!  
> [Check Out My Tumblr If You Want To See More](https://tantumuna.tumblr.com)


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'aaaaaaaaaaall I ain't got nothing to say about this one except I spent literally all damn day working on this. Enjoy. Leave ur tears at the door. Love all of you. We'll be back later with another update.
> 
> Except January 25th, 2036: a date you will find in this chapter. It contains some implied content near the end of it. If you're not comfortable with that, please skip over it. The entire date is not 100% necessary for plot understanding, but I don't want to up the whole rating of the fic for like one paragraph. Thanks!

January 7th, 2036-

Seeing Tanya and Mikaela off that morning was the hardest thing Simon had ever had to do. Mikaela was going back to school, her first day after the break, and that meant Simon had to be awake and participating in the morning rituals. Around Mikaela, it was easy. She just wanted to chatter on in the morning in her slow, tired slurred voice, and complain. She didn't like school—he'd gained that much insight from her and going back after Christmas was always particularly hard. Tanya was a different story. She expected Simon to be just as he always had—efficient, stiff, and polite. Everything to be done exactly on time, when she ordered, and no talk of Vincent. He was still under fake orders to not go near him. The only saving grace was how long during the day Tanya was gone—she didn't have to know how close they were.

"Simon," she addressed, standing in the foyer and pulling on her jacket.

Simon stood at attention. Looked directly at her.

"Take down the decorations today."

"Of course," Simon nodded, a slight bow, and stayed by the banister. Mikaela gave him a strange look, eyebrow raised, but didn't say anything. She just waved before following Tanya out through the front door, where their ride was waiting. Simon stood where he was until he heard the car pull out of the driveway, and then he released a breath. Relieved the stress building up in the back of his head. Every time Tanya glanced at him, he could feel the scrutiny. The way she must have been judging his every move. Waiting, watching, for him to mess up. To do something that wasn't quite right, that was just off enough that she could suspect something was wrong. It terrified him. Terrified of what she would do if she found out that her orders didn't bind him to anything anymore. The stress level was blaring in his peripheral view. Higher than he needed to be. Jumped, when he felt a sudden pressure on his waist.

"Hey—hey. It's just me," Vincent laughed. Simon turned in his arms, to look at him, to break into a smile, and slap at his shoulder.

"You scared me."

It was Vincent's turn to smile. In all the time Simon had been there, he'd never really been startled. Confused, maybe, but he always seemed to know what was going on around him. Now, he was jumping right out of his skin, and it was cute. The way his face turned red, but his LED stayed blue. Something about that. Vincent tugged him a little closer.

"What's on the agenda for today?" he asked.

"Well—I can make you breakfast. I need to take care of the Christmas decorations, as well. Other than that, basic chores."

"Cool, breakfast then. I'll help with Christmas," he went first into the kitchen, dragging Simon behind him by the hand. Like he just couldn't get enough—needed to have his hand on Simon at all times. Just to really relish in it while they could.

They'd been doing this since Simon broke free New Year's morning, just after midnight. Sneaking around when Tanya wasn't home. Stealing kisses. Vincent's hands around his waist and pressing a little too close when they were alone. It was freeing, even if they had to tuck it all away come evening time, when Tanya returned. In that moment, it was made to look like they were nothing, but the mornings and the afternoons made up for it entirely. Because, on a day like today, just the two of them on a Monday morning, Simon didn't make breakfast for Vincent. He made breakfast with Vincent. Vincent scrambled the eggs while Simon started coffee and toasted a bagel. Then, while he covered the bagel in cream cheese, Vincent kept a hand on his hip and sipped his beverage, looking over Simon's shoulder periodically to watch his hands work.

Today, specifically, Vincent dropped his hand ever so to take a good handful of Simon's rear, and Simon yelped. He managed, with some amount of effort, to not completely drop the bagel and the knife, and even to finish his task, with Vincent running circles with the tips of his fingers through the fabric of Simon's pants. Vincent was always so nonchalant about it. No expression on his face, he was just sipping coffee. Watching hungrily as Simon attempted to concentrate on the task at hand, not what there was always a possibility of. Somewhere they hadn't gone.

"Vince," Simon finally said. But this time, he held up the plate between them and turned. Effectively removing Vincent's hand. And smiled.

"Thanks, doll face," Vincent all but _purred_ when he took the plate. Simon could feel his insides reeling, but he steadied himself against the counter instead of locking knees and collapsing. Like he wanted to.

"Um," Simon cleared his throat. "I could get started while you eat."

Vincent shook his head, "Nah. I'm gonna read," he waved his tablet in the air, after snatching it off the counter top. "Maybe the kitchen?"

Simon glanced around. It wasn't too bad, but it did need to be done. If his cleaning quality dropped even the slightest, Tanya would know. He would never want to know what she would do if she suspected anything was wrong with him, not after her warning. It could mean the worst. The kitchen, then. He started with the dishes. It was running through the motions at this point, and now, he had no idea how he'd ever done this every day. For over a year, now. It was tedious and boring. Even with Vincent there, watching and commentating on his reading, Simon was dreading the remainder of the day. More cleaning. But, he managed, and was soon stepping out into the foyer with Vincent in tow. Hands clasped together.

"Alright, so. Boxes," Vincent said. "You've got them all set out. Look at you. Efficient," he teased, poked Simon's side to somehow make his point.

"Yes. We'll do the tree last," and where he wanted to say they should start on opposite sides of the room, to get it done in the quickest amount of time, he didn't have to follow that little tick anymore. "Let's start with the fireplace?"

Vincent hummed in reply and seemed to agree with Simon's suggestion. He followed Simon over to the fireplace, where they started. Plucking up all the decorations and wrapping them tightly, putting them in the box. Stopping every so often to share a conversation, or Vincent needed a drink, or Simon wanted a kiss. It felt. Natural. To be able to look at Vincent and _want_ something. To be able to have that something. It just meant that the cleaning took longer. That they didn't get to the tree for another hour and a half, instead of a straight half hour. Simon didn't mind the change of pace. It made up for how little motivation he had to actually clean. A thankless job, but when they'd finally moved onto the tree, Vincent wormed his arms back around Simon's waist and squeezed.

"Good job," Vincent muttered, like it wasn't about to send a shiver straight down Simon's spinal column.

"The tree—" Simon started, but stopped short when he felt Vincent's lips on his neck.

"We'll get to it. We're just," another kiss, "taking our sweet time, hm? Slow," another kiss, "slow," this time, to his jaw, "slow."

Simon hung on absolutely every word Vincent had to say, until those words devolved into a wet swipe across his ear, and that—Simon whirled around, but Vincent was already detaching himself and laughing. Stepping backwards, like he was about to run.

"Vince, that's disgusting," Simon had his hand up to his ear, where Vincent had just directly stuck his tongue, and following every backwards stride he made. Vincent, on the other hand, was still cackling. Like somehow, he'd just pulled off the perfect heist, and Simon's frustration with it was cute—endearing, enough that he wasn't watching where he was going and tripped when his foot hit the edge of the couch.

Vincent held his laughter in for just long enough to reach out and catch Simon—tried—to catch Simon. Simon's weight was enough to take them both down, and Vincent landed on the carpet with a loud thud. Simon on top of him. After a moment for the dust all to settle back down, Simon pushed himself up on his elbows and. Vincent felt his chest seize up. Simon was _laughing_ too. It was such a rusty sound, like he didn't do it often, but his face was all folded up with little laugh lines here and there, and Vincent joined back in too.

"I'm so sorry," Simon worked out, between the bursts of giggles.

"It's fine—fine," Vincent wormed his arm out from underneath them and reached over. "But, I think the tree can wait."

"What are you…?" Simon's laughter died down as he watched. Vincent had reached over for the little panel that sat on the fireplace. A fail safe for when they didn't have the remote, and the remote was over on the coffee table where it belonged.

"I know, I know," Vincent started before Simon could say anything. "It'll keep me warm, there's the compromise," and the fireplace roared to life, flashing fire up on the screen and the heater, "and you have to admit. It's a little…" Vincent turned back to Simon, to reach up and cup his cheek, "romantic."

Romantic. Simon melted. Because that meant this was romance—that's what this really was. That's how Vincent saw it. A romance. Ever secret and ever quiet, but it was something more than Simon could have ever imagined. When Vincent moved, Simon went willingly, until they had flipped, and Simon was flat against the floor. He dropped his head back into the carpet to and let his eyes dip close. He couldn't feel the heat, not in the sense that it made him warm, but the way it radiated out—he knew it was there. It was comforting, gentle, and just as Vincent said. Romantic. Vincent leaned down and closed the space between them. This time, Simon was able to really and truly kiss back. Tilting his head to the side ever so, running his fingers through Vincent's hair—he'd learned. Even so, it still hadn't grown old or tiresome or mundane. Every time was like something brand new. Each move, each shift, and Simon played brave enough today for it. When Vincent coaxed his lips to part.

Simon couldn't help the groan that left his throat, when Vincent's tongue was in his mouth. But, Vincent had to break away—to breathe—and that was something Simon would never have to experience. He laughed a little, watching as Vincent tried to catch his breath. He stayed where he was, hovering over Simon with his hands around the crown of his head, knee between his thighs, but was just breathing. Every puff of air: Simon felt it and just smiled.

"I don't know how you do that," Vincent complained.

"I'm an android. I don't _breathe_ , Vince," Simon beamed. Smiled wide enough that his eyes squinted up and they sparkled. So, so blue.

"Right, right. Sometimes I forget," he sucked in another breath of air before pulling off, dropping to the floor beside Simon. "You fake it really well—the breathing thing."

Which. Sure. Simon wasn't about to refute that but didn't feel the need to answer the disguised question anymore. Vincent should have known by then that the breathing was just in the programming. To look normal. To look human. It didn't mean anything, so Simon let it lie, and instead pushed himself up to lean against Vincent's chest, a hand resting just on the opposite junction of his shoulder and neck.

"It has its perks," Simon decided on, "the whole not breathing thing."

Vincent gave him a look, one that Simon didn't quite recognize, but one with a raised eyebrow and half lidded eyes. The slightest of smirks on his face before Vincent resumed looking at the ceiling. He brought his arm around Simon's shoulders and gave him the slightest squeeze. They laid like that for a beat, a moment longer, and then Simon shifted to sit up. The tree was still glaring him in the face with its purple bristles and blinking lights. This whole decision-making idea was still new to him, and there was still tugging at the back of his head to just do what he needed to do. For the sake of protection and nothing more. If Tanya found out…

"We should get back to work," Simon muttered. He sounded defeated.

"Hey," Vincent pulled himself up too, scooting to sit hip to hip with Simon, "I'm gonna help. There's no rush."

That calmed Simon down almost immediately. His shoulders slumped, and he slouched forward, hands on the floor, and just watched the Christmas tree. Christmas was a relatively big event, but one he'd never really gotten to participate in. He woke Mikaela up and sent her downstairs, then spent the remainder of the day cooped up in the kitchen preparing their feast. His only free time had ever been to pick up the wrapping paper mess in the living room, while they were eating lunch. Mikaela would make a big deal about showing him her presents later in the evening, and then he just waited a week to put everything away.

"Maybe this year," Simon muttered, "I could join you in your Christmas festivities?"

Vincent gave him a sympathetic smile, wrapped his arm around his shoulders, and pulled Simon into his chest, "Yeah. Yeah, you can."

 

January 14th, 2036-

When Mikaela first went back to school, Simon knew it was only a matter of time before Vincent followed. The University never quite went back at the same time as Mikaela, though history showed there were certain years it had happened. This year, it was just a week after, and Simon was standing the foot of the stairs again, watching Vincent through the open door of his study. Gathering up his tablet, his laptop, a few books. Shoved it all into a bag, and then cursed. Tanya and Mikaela had already left, carpooling as usual, with Matt. Something Vincent tried to ignore, because it meant he got to take the car instead of waiting for the bus—which was no way for a Professor to arrive. It also meant he could leave whenever he wanted. Little victories.

But, he was still cursing and flitting about in search of something. Simon decided standing there wasn't his best course of action and made the short distance to the door. He at least knocked but was already walking into the office before his knock had so much as finished. Not that Vincent cared. Vincent straightened up from where he'd been bent down rummaging through drawers.

"Is there something…?" Simon raised an eyebrow.

"Can't find my fucking glasses," Vincent groaned. "I'm blind which isn't helping, but."

Simon couldn't control his smile, his little laugh, which made Vincent frown. But, the sort of frown where he broke into a halfhearted smile a second later and rolled his eyes.

"You seen them?" words slurred together with the early time.

"No," Simon admitted. "But, I'll check upstairs."

"Cool. I gotta leave in like ten minutes, so, it's crunch time," he called after Simon, who had already ducked down the hallway. He checked the living room first, just the coffee table where Vincent might have left them. Not there. He went upstairs then and checked the bathroom in the hallway—nothing. Then, to the master bedroom. Vincent's glasses were sitting on the end of the bed, innocently, like they'd certainly been there the whole time. But, for as little as Vincent wore his glasses around the house, he was still blind. He very well may have just left them there that morning, instead of putting them on his face. Lost track of them when they blended into the blue of the comforter.

Simon grabbed them and made his way back downstairs, to see Vincent still rummaging around in his desk. Something about the futility of that had Simon laughing, quietly and to himself, before he entered the office again. With the audacity to have slid Vincent's glasses onto his face, sitting at the edge of his nose so he could still see past them without any type of exertion. He took a deep breath, to mentally prepare himself, then stepped up to the desk. The top draw was open, and Vincent had just taken his hand out of it when Simon reached down and slid it closed. That caught Vincent's attention well enough that he straightened up. Looked at Simon and. Smirked.

"Well. I think I found my glasses," he stated.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Simon played, and the look he received was entirely worth it. Vincent had to check his watch, but once he did, he took Simon by the hips and pulled him close.

"May I have my glasses, Simon?" Vincent's voice was a quiet, deep whisper. One that Simon was absolutely powerless against, and his game was up immediately. He gave a weak nod, lips parted, and took the glasses off his face. In turn, he gently slid them onto Vincent's, pressed up close where he normally wore them. "Good boy."

And Simon nearly short circuited right there. Vincent took the time to peck him on the cheek before bidding him a farewell, and Simon couldn't even bring himself to walk Vincent to the door. Not even once he'd heard it open, close, and the garage door make that squeaking noise. Only then, did Simon finally gather himself back together enough to push away from the desk. He had things to do that didn't involve Vincent. Cleaning. Chores. Cooking. It was a Monday, so nothing so spectacular, but something that should keep him busy most of the day if he was slow enough. Which as of late, he had been. Tanya hadn't noticed, fortunately, but that was only due to her absence. Mikaela never cared about the cleanliness of her room, which gave Simon a free pass some days.

Not this day. Laundry, however dreadful, was on the list of tasks for the day, and should be started first. He tried desperately to remember, as he slugged up the stairs, how he used to do things so efficiently and quickly, without these thoughts plaguing the back of his mind. It was. Tedious. Boring. How he'd been living for over a year, almost two. It didn't add up, and he had yet to figure this newfound freedom was a good thing. Having to keep it all contained was draining. He had to work, talk, and act like it didn't exist. Which meant remembering how he used to act, and that part of him seemed so long ago. Even as he picked up Mikaela's hamper, he had to restrain himself from using it to gather all the laundry. That wasn't the way it was supposed to be done.

Separate loads. Long loads. He'd work on the kitchen while he waited. Then, the living room. The bathroom. Laundry. Bedrooms. Laundry.

He stopped at Vincent's study. It was three, now. Tanya would be returning with Mikaela within the hour, as long as nothing abnormal happened. In which case, Simon would be notified. It wasn't as if his connectivity broke with his obedience. Up until that point, the rule had always been that Vincent cleaned his own study. Even if Simon had been allowed inside for the majority of his time with the family. Tanya had seen him in there before, but that was usually with Vincent. If Vincent needed something—food, a book, something picked up. She'd never come home just to see Simon in there, sitting on the couch or at the desk. With a book, maybe. But, she had come somewhat to terms with Vincent's encouragement that Simon read. It would pass the time. The rest of the day, even.

If Mikaela had homework, he'd find no comfort there, and as long as Tanya was home. Simon had noticed well enough to know that Tanya still had some sort of importance. Vincent would hardly even look at Simon, and it needed to be that way. Simon had told Vincent about the order, and they had come to some horrid, solemn agreement that Simon had to pretend the order was still in effect. He hadn't broken free of it. Which meant for the majority of the evening, he couldn't even look Vincent's way. Reading sounded like his best and only option. And, with his new-found freedom and just a little bit of attitude. Simon picked a Sigmund Freud book off the shelf this time before he settled down in the living room armchair. The television idly played in the background.

Halfway through the book, and Simon couldn't figure out if he'd become biased with all Vincent had told him, or if it really was just that abhorrent. He set it aside and vowed never to tell Vincent he'd done this. It must have been something like a regret, but the television caught his attention instead. There was a picture of an Android being flashed in the corner. A WR600. The word _Deviant_ splattered underneath it in big red letters, but before Simon could really tune in to hear what it was—the front door opened. He shut the television off immediately and stood, brushing himself off.

"Welcome home," he greeted, stepping out into the foyer.

"Hey," Tanya greeted, idly, and stepped aside for Mikaela to enter. He could see the snow coming down, hard, already, and Mikaela looked absolutely frozen. All bundled up and covered. She came over to Simon immediately, and in something probably a little selfish, she fell into him. Tanya didn't have the energy to tell her not to do that—because while it wouldn't make Simon cold, it would certainly melt over his clothes. But, Simon gave her a sympathetic smile.

"I'll take care of her," he muttered. Tanya replied with a tired nod and made her way into the living room. She turned the television back on, but the news story had already ended. Simon stared on for a moment. Mikaela was already walking upstairs before he gathered himself and followed her.

She thumped into her door before opening it and kept herself in control long enough to peel off her coat before collapsing onto her bed. Butter was there within seconds to make his home up against her neck. He was warm, and she nuzzled into his fur, continued to do so when Simon entered and picked her coat off the ground. She barely cracked open an eye to watch him hang up the coat, take care of her bag. The bed dipped soon after, and she did open her eyes for that. Simon was sitting beside her, petting Butter, and Mikaela was warmed to see he was still wearing the bracelet.

"How was school?" he asked.

"Boring. Everyone was too excited for snow to do anything," she rolled onto her side, curled up against Simon with Butter still near her head. Simon brushed back her hair and smiled at her.

"Perhaps you'll be free tomorrow, then?"

"Yeah, right. It snows so much, school never closes." She was pouting, her lips pursed out while she just stared forward. After a moment, Simon took his hand back and slumped forward.

"What about homework?" he inquired.

Mikaela glanced up at him, like a side glance, and he wasn't imagining the annoyance behind her irises, "Too much."

He nodded, and his smile fell. She was beyond actually wanting to talk about school. She'd always disliked it, but it was always something to talk about. Now, well. He was still learning, after all. He wrapped his arms around his stomach and leaned forward just a touch more. Looking back at her just in time to see her jerk to look at Butter instead. Like she wasn't staring. Like she didn't feel bad for suddenly being so rude—Simon had seemed so dejected for a moment, but he was smiling again

"Should we play video games this evening? After your homework, of course. I've got nothing to do." And, it was true. With Tanya home, he couldn't do anything that would involve Vincent. It left him nearly confined to Mikaela's room if he wanted any semblance of this freedom he had. Thankfully, Mikaela was more than happy to oblige his desire.

"Only if you do my history homework. I'll do the math."

"Deal," and they were both moving off the bed.

 

January 25th, 2036-

Mikaela was safe and sound, tucked away at Lynn's house with Gale for the evening. Simon did as he always did and stood by the car, waited for the door to open and Lynn's mother to wave out at him. They had androids, of course, but Lynn's mother was personable and always answered the door herself. Especially when there were children involved. The wave was just a thing. How she said that they were safe inside, and Simon's job was done. He always waved back, of course, and gave her a smile this time. There was something about diving back into the car, though, that was a relief. Something prickling on the edge of Simon's skin that he couldn't quite place, couldn't quite understand, but the car and its automatic heater fixed it almost immediately.

This was just another Friday. Except, Simon was forced to make an emergency run to the school to pick up Mikaela when Tanya called him. Frantic, almost, but certainly exhausted. Something had happened, of which she gave absolutely no detail, that was going to keep her busy for the rest of the evening. She wasn't going to be able to bring Mikaela home, because Matt was stuck with her. She'd asked, demanded almost, that Simon go and pick up Mikaela. Do whatever she needed to be done, and not ten minutes after being home, Mikaela had run downstairs after Simon to show him the text she'd gotten. Since it was Friday: a sleepover at Lynn's house was always in order for the weekend, and Lynn was asking if they wanted to. Gale had already replied with an overabundance of exclamation marks and nothing else. For show, only, Simon had to ask Vincent. Who agreed. And there they were.

Mikaela threw a peace sign out the door, before Simon drew off, and he smiled. He received a message not a second later, with the same sign in text form. Followed up with an insistence that she wasn't sure if Simon had seen her, and she wanted to thank him for driving her. Lynn's house wasn't exactly down the street, and the drive home would be a good half an hour. But, it was always Simon's pleasure. Mikaela hadn't, and would never catch on to what was happening. She was just too interested in Simon _being_ human to care, really. If he could make choices, she'd probably be the first to present him with one. Being with her was peaceful, but she was gone, and he was on his way back to the house.

A house where Tanya would not be. Vincent would be, because three days weekends were better than rotting in his office answering psychology questions for students when e-mail and instant messaging were wonderful. He'd canceled whatever time he was supposed to be there and opted to stay home. Where he had curled up in the couch, with a mug of hot chocolate, and an old movie. That's where he had been when Simon left, and he had not moved so much as a single apparent muscle when Simon returned. Only this time, there was a blanket, and the fire place was on.

"Word from Tanya?" Vincent asked, before Simon could even cross the hall.

"No, none," Simon brushed a bit of the snow off of his shoulders before he stepped into the living room. He stood there, awkwardly, watching the television until he noticed Vincent was shifting to make room on the couch.

"Here," Vincent sort of slurred together some vague idea of a request, left his arm up, and it looked just like a place for Simon to crawl into. And, after he slipped off his shoes, he did. This time, he even pulled the blanket up over himself, pressed close into Vincent's side and his head on his chest.

"What are you watching?" Simon whispered. Shifted again when Vincent wormed his arm down between his back and the couch, to wrap around his waist.

"Just a movie. Been asleep for most of it. Waiting for you," he was openly talking over the movie, so Simon believed him. Simon didn't care either way when Vincent pushed to the side to leave a kiss in his hair. Simon smiled. Dumbly. Weakly.

"Any plans?" Vincent asked then. "Chores? Stupid things you have to do?"

Simon shook his head, "Did it all this morning. I'm entirely…free," the word.

Vincent hummed, "I like free. Means you're all mine."

The movie was muted a second later, and Simon pulled back when Vincent started to move. Pulled his legs up onto the couch and sat sideways, with his arms open and knees parted just enough that Simon would fit. Those open arms were all Simon needed to make his move, and he slipped right into them with his arms loose around Vincent's sides. Then, there were arms around him, his shoulders, Vincent's fingers wound up in his hair. Tugging, pulling, bringing Simon closer until they were kissing. Softly, slowly. Vincent pushed forward, and Simon followed his every step until his back was on the couch. Head resting on a pillow against the armrest, and they were still kissing. Vincent's hand was cupped along his jaw while the other had slipped down to his neck. Then, Vincent had to pull back. To breathe.

"Hey—" Vincent sucked in a deep breath. His hand dipped down a little farther, over Simon's chest. "You trust me, yeah?"

Simon nodded, eagerly, "I do." He took a minute to hesitate, his fingers shaking but he rested them on Vincent's face, and Vincent smiled.

"I think—well, I've been thinking," Vincent's hand kept going. From his chest, across his torso, to the hem of his shirt. "Remember when I asked you all those…" he paused, trailed off to slip his hand under Simon's shirt, "personal questions?"

Simon let out a choked, exasperated sound. He certainly remembered the questions. How strange they had been at the time. Stressful, even. Uncomfortable, maybe. But he cared more for how they made him _feel_ at the moment. Wanted. With Vincent's fingertips ghosting along his stomach, hiking up his shirt with every furthered inch. Every press was like electricity to his sensors, flying up through his skin.

"I wanted to… I feel like a demonstration might be in order."

"A demonstration…?" Simon tilted his head.

"Yeah, yeah, like," Vincent laughed. He leaned in again to kiss Simon. Heavy, hard, pushing up against him. Simon reciprocated every little twitch, every movement—let Vincent pull his shirt up to rest over his collarbone. Pulled away again.

"I think I got it," Simon replied. Breathless. For show, more than anything, but his face had definitely turned a bright pink. "What do you…?"

"I was hoping I could," Vincent took a second to lick his lips, "be an active participant."

"Oh," Simon gasped. Vincent's hand hovered over his chest for a moment, before he decided not to. He pulled away, off the couch completely and pulled Simon up with him. Once he'd straightened Simon's shirt, pulled it down, and mused his hair back into place, he settled with his hands-on Simon's hips.

"What do you say?"

Simon couldn't say anything. Didn't trust himself to speak without it coming out like a garbled mess. Instead, he gave the faintest nod and gripped onto Vincent's hand. Tugging it of his hip so he could intertwine their fingers. Vincent led the way after that, up the stairs and to the left. Straight to the master bedroom. There was no time for hesitation, no time for Simon to question this. The spare bedroom was right there, held a bit less meaning—but these thoughts meant almost nothing when Vincent pushed him to the bed. He didn't have words after that.

"Time," Vincent asked.

"Five seventeen," Simon replied, gasping. He was watching Vincent, who was closing the door. Locking it.

"Tanya?"

"She shouldn't arrive home until after nine, that's—"

"Four and a half hours, got it," Vincent was already yanking off his shirt. "More than enough time to do _everything_ I need to."

 

8:02.

8:03.

Simon had the blanket pulled up to his neck, staring at the wall. Staring at the digital alarm clock on what he had come to realize was Tanya's side of the bed. Where he was laying, propped up on a pillow still. He'd recognized the stack of law books. A few papers set out and a pen left open to dry. That's where he was laying, and Vincent. Vincent was tucked up in the corner of his own bed. Breathing, back to Simon, asleep. Maybe. Simon hadn't checked. He hadn't wanted to check. Hadn't wanted to look.

8:04.

Simon let out a shuddering breath and squeezed the blanket a little closer. From where he was, he could see his clothes bunched up on the floor. Not close enough that he could get them without getting out of the bed—and he didn't want to. Not for the comfort, but he didn't want to stand up. He really. Did not want to stand up. He didn't want to feel it. Any sort of evidence of what he'd just done. He'd have to feel something if he stood up, but from here, he could just stare at the pile of clothing. For a moment, one shame filled moment, he thought about all the times Mikaela had tried to get him to take off the uniform. Without it, there was nothing but the flashing yellow on his temple to tell the world what he was.

But, this wasn't the place to be thinking about Mikaela. Not after what he'd done.

8:05.

He finally found the courage to roll over, onto his back, to look over at Vincent. His breathing was steady. Everything about him was steady—he really must've been asleep. It made sense, if Simon wanted to think about it. And, he didn't. Not really. Instead, he shifted. Carefully. And pressed his hand into Vincent's back. There were still dull red marks at his shoulders, and Simon looked over those, with his fingertips, carefully. It was a moment, here, just to touch. In the quiet, while he wanted for Vincent to wake, but without the courage to stir him. He didn't have to, and after a moment, Vincent turned to face him. His face scrunched up though.

"What are you doing?"

"I—?" Simon tried to reply, but his voice came out a little funny. Vincent waved him off, anyway.

"Tanya's gonna be home soon. You gotta, like," Vincent gestured to the door. "I gotta clean up."

"Vince—"

"Get, come on," Vincent pushed himself up to sit on the edge of the bed. He stretched—Simon could hear his back crack—and yanked the blanket down. That wasn't just a cue, it was a warning. Simon didn't have a choice, not if he wanted to have any sense of modesty. Vincent was already up, pulling on a pair of sweatpants and moving around the bed. He grabbed up Simon's clothes before Simon could even get out of bed.

"Nobody's home, just," and he shoved the pile into Simon's arm. "Before someone is, yeah?" a smile. Not a real smile, though. Simon knew well enough to see that.

"I—of course," he gulped. There was no debate. Vincent had made that very clear. No time to talk. No time to wonder. Only time enough to leave—to flee.

8:10.

Vincent slammed the door behind him, and Simon stood long enough to listen to the scrambling behind it. To clean up the mess. A mess that Simon had almost entirely made—Vincent's mess, specifically, was sliding down the inside of his thigh. He stood there, eyes clamped shut, before he couldn't anymore. The bathroom was right across the hall, all he had to do was walk. It was slow, a little strange. A diagnostic was in order, after he got cleaned up. Dressed up. Sat down. Anything to keep his mind off of what had just happened.

But, even a diagnostic wasn't enough. It was just—lying too long in one position stiffened up his joints. It happened. His upkeep was well enough, but it happened. It was just a worse reminder, than anything else, and then he had to actually clean himself. Maybe he'd, at some point, parted from the education novels and news casts to watch and read things a little more. Human. Romantic, fantastical. This wasn't what he'd been expecting, but it was inevitable. He was an android. Just stepped too far out of his place, and he had brought the consequences on himself. When he looked in the mirror, dressed back up in his uniform—missing his shoes down in the living room—it felt a little right.

8:15.

He would never be able to go back to whatever he had been. Instead. He got his shoes and folded the blanket in the living room. Tanya hadn't cared much that he was _sleeping_ on the couch. Not once had she even brought it up, so that was what he intended to do. Except the thudding down the stairs that caught his attention. Vincent dressed now in a loose t-shirt and carrying the blankets from the bed. Some of his own clothes. It would look like he'd just had a moment of heart and changed the bedding, cleaned the room, as a surprise. Instead, he was covering up something shameful. That there'd been an android in their bed.

Vincent didn't even look at him as he hurried through to the laundry room. A moment later, Simon heard that old comfortable sound of the washing machine. All he could do was plop down to the sofa and stare ahead. Wait, and wait, and when the time came, Tanya walked through the front door looking tired. Drained. Exhausted. Simon glanced over her direction. To watch as Vincent approached her with a reheated plated of spaghetti and a one-armed hug. She fell into his arms. Kissed him. He kissed her back, and they went upstairs.

 

January 29th, 2036-

Four days. It was Tuesday, and Simon had set Mikaela up in her bedroom with her homework. It was just enough, this time, to keep her busy. And, he needed to get started on dinner. There would be no real time for him to help, which she was alright with, for once. Butter had curled up around her shoulders for the occasion, and she had music playing right to her ears. Even so, he was careful not to slam her door when he shut it, and then he moved back downstairs. Into the kitchen, side stepping his way around Tanya as she made her way to the living room. Dinner would be spaghetti—something simple, something he could make with his eyes closed.

Four days. He hadn't much talked to Vincent. It wasn't just because Tanya had been home for the weekend either, because that only made up for half of the time. The other two days, Vincent had been _busy_. Busy enough to not tell Simon he was busy, and the days had dragged. There was nothing to do after he finished his chores, alone, and he'd spent the majority of Tuesday afternoon playing video games in Mikaela's room. She, of course, didn't know about it. Or, if she did, she didn't mention it. Maybe didn't care. Simon had found himself particularly fond of a battle royale style game she'd been playing, and he was sure she was enjoying the sudden boost in her statistics.

The four days was taking its toll, though, and Simon hadn't been able to really shake the thought. He'd been caught up in the moment, of course, and had done something wrong. Something that made Vincent scarce. Now, it felt like a virus in his system. He'd replayed the events over and over, trying to find what had happened. Where he'd mis-stepped. What he'd done that Vincent didn't like. It certainly didn't make the pasta sauce recipe any easier to remember, even if it was partially made out of a can. Somewhere through the fog, he gathered himself back up together enough to add some vegetables to the sauce.

"Hey, Simon," Tanya's voice cut him off, just as he dumped a couple of chopped mushrooms in.

"Yes?" he glanced at her, only for a moment. Then, bell peppers.

"It's gonna be a busy night. I'll eat in the living room. Mikaela can eat wherever and serve Vincent in his office."

A new order. She'd told him to serve Vincent his meal, where it had been usually that she would take it to him. But, when he looked again, he saw her clip a headpiece back onto her ear and begin talking through it, tablet in her hand. She was working, and it had just been an afterthought, so she could stay busy. Still, he let out a breath and went back to chopping. If everything was still the same, a new order would override the old one, and Simon smiled. That would be news. It had to be news. News that Vincent would like, appreciate. A new-found moment of motivation to finish the dinner.

Spaghetti, meatballs, and garlic bread on the side. With, hopefully enough vegetables in the sauce to make up for Mikaela's daily needs, but Simon had had trouble remembering to keep count. Some of it was still automated, but sometimes there was a bit more manual thinking involved. It was strange, and something about it felt human. But, as long as Tanya didn't notice. He'd be alright. Still, he'd take a moment to himself and server her last. It was the only real moment of freedom he'd ever get around her. As always, Mikaela first. He took her plate up the stairs and knocked before he entered. She was exactly where he left her, only this time, her legs were pulled up into the chair.

"Mikki, I brought dinner," he said. Just loud enough that she heard him through her music and yanked out an ear-bud.

"Si! What's for food?"

He presented the plate of spaghetti, and she took it without pause. Then, the fork, and her eyes just lit up.

"You'll braid my hair tonight, right? I gotta shower after this for school, so I want you to do that cool one you did before."

"Of course. Just call me when you're ready, alright? I'll be downstairs. Cleaning, probably," which he said with a huff in his voice and a defeated slump in his shoulders.

"Boring," Mikaela gave him a wink, biting the end of her pen. "We should video game this weekend."

"Certainly. I have to go serve, though," he gestured off towards the door, and Mikaela nodded. She slipped the bud back into her ear, and that was the global cue for discussion ended. Simon took his leave after that, back down the stairs and back into the kitchen. The second plate, now, was for Vincent.

There was definitely a streak of pride when Simon walked by the living room, watched Tanya for a moment to confirm she was too wrapped up in her work to really notice much. She did glance at him, however, and nod. An understanding that she was last and didn't mind, mostly because of the phone call. But, Simon took it positively and went down the hall to Vincent's door. He knocked, waited, and knocked again until he heard Vincent through the wood. That he could enter. Though, more exasperated than Simon would've perhaps liked. Still, he pushed through and closed the door behind him. Vincent was hunched over his desk, furiously typing.

"One quiz and the whole world loses its mind," Vincent rolled his eyes, then stopped. "What's up?"

"Um. Dinner," Simon held the plate out.

"Tanya usually brings it doesn't she? After she told you…?

"She told me to serve you," Simon smiled. "I thought it might be a chance to talk? I haven't seen you much."

"Oh, yeah. Listen," Vincent pushed out of his chair to stand. When Simon approached, Vincent took the plate, the fork, and set them down on the desk instead. He perched himself right on the corner. "I'm sorry."

Simon hadn't been expecting that one, gaped at the response. At least it pulled a smile, even a laugh, out of Vincent.

"It's been busy at the University. Beginning of the semester, my new kids don't quite have the hang of it yet. I'm teaching an intro class this semester, which I don't normally do. So, I had to make a bunch of notes from scratch. Wild," he chuckled.

Silence was all that really came. Simon's eyes were a little wide, and he was frozen here he stood. Until Vincent opened his arms up again and smiled ever so gently. Sympathetic. Kind. Simon felt his heart clench up and he fell right into him.

"I'm sorry, Simon," Vincent muttered. He wound Simon up tight in his hold and stroked through his hair. Once, twice, before kissing his head. "I didn't mean to leave you hanging like that."

Simon believed him, completely. He squeezed back as tight as he could for as long as he could. Vincent was pushing him back, just slightly, to get his hand under Simon's chin.

"You've done so well, waiting for me like that. Things should clear up soon, right?"

"I—I hope so," Simon gulped. Vincent was staring directly at him with a smile on his face. A dangerous look in his eye. One that Simon was about to trip head first into and fall. Not so much to realize that Vincent was dragging him down into the kiss, only that he tipped into and pressed their lips together.

The surge of emotion that flooded his system was intense. He. He really had _missed_ this. Missed the feel of Vincent's hand in his hair, on his jaw, just touching. Touching, reveling in the smoothness of his skin. In each other. Simon pressed back, steadying himself on the desk, tilting his head. Trying for that better angle. Until he was on his tiptoes, and Vincent had dropped his hands to the desk as well. So, caught up in kissing that Simon forgot the time. Forgot dinner. Forgot the world. Thought back that maybe he hadn't done anything wrong—he'd over thought, over analyzed, over—

"Vincent?!"

Vincent pushed Simon away so fast he barely had time to register what was happening. He stumbled backwards, caught himself on a bookshelf, and—

"It forced me!"

Collapsed. _It._

Tanya turned on him in a moment, her voice loud and shrieking, "You bastard! What have to him?" she was marching towards him. "You've been playing me a fool, haven't you? You think I haven't noticed?! I give you a chance—one chance to prove I can trust you, and this is what you do!?"

"Tanya—" Simon tried, but she was grabbing him by the collar and pulling him up.

"Don't you dare! Speak to me! How dare you, you, fucking piece of plastic!" and she was forcing him out. Pushing him towards the wide-open door. "I bring you into my house, and this is what you do!? You seduce my husband? You—you're disgusting!"

Simon stumbled backwards with each hit of her hands against his chest. An alarm, blaring in his head to fight back, to not just let her do this—tell her the truth. She had to know the truth, she should have— But. Would he even be able to tell her? Would she even believe him? There was anger flared up in her eyes, clouded behind desperation so strong that all she wanted was to keep her husband. Prove that there was something here. Something they'd just had trouble finding—and Simon wasn't about to take it away. She wouldn't believe him. She wouldn't, but— There was no time to tell her.

"Mom?!"

Simon hit the wall. Mikaela was standing there. At the top of the stairs with her hair down and wet. A towel around her shoulders and her sweatpants made to look like rain. Wide eyes. Fear. Simon recognized fear. Felt it for the first time.

"Go back to your room, Mikaela," Tanya ordered, but Mikaela had never been so much bound to orders.

"What are you doing!? Don't hurt him!"

" _Hurt_ him?!" Tanya turned on Mikaela, immediately, and Simon stayed frozen where he was. "It's a doll, Mikaela! Plastic, metal, and wires! It can't _get hurt!"_

"You don't know that! That's not true! Simon!" Mikaela stopped at the edge of the stairs where she was caught by Vincent, who had followed them out of the office.

"Get out," Tanya turned on her heel, her finger and pointed nail directed at Simon. "Get _out_ ," she hissed.

"Tanya, I—" Simon tried, but she slapped him. Hard enough he could almost taste thirium in his mouth, but the shock of the hit did more than she ever could've.

" _Don't_ you dare," she was quiet, suddenly. Her eyes squinted with tears brimming up at the corners. "I bring you into my home. I let you raise my daughter. I let you interact with my husband—far behind what I should've _ever_ done, and you betrayed me. You're broken. You're defective. You're—" she cut herself off, sucking in a deep breath. To give her final verdict.

"Mom, no—no, no, no!" Mikaela was struggling against Vincent's hold.

"I could have you deactivated. Destroyed. Recycled. I don't want to have to do that. Just— _get out_."

"Simon!" Mikaela all but clawed Vincent's arm, and when he retracted with a shout, she dashed forward. Ran, jumped, and Simon caught her in his arms. She wrapped her legs around his waist and squeezed around his neck—he could feel her tears. "No—No, don't go! He has to stay!"

"Mikaela—!"

"It's alright," Simon interrupted, and Tanya stopped immediately. Watched with careful eyes as Simon held Mikaela in a tight hug. "It's okay, Mikki," he whispered.

"It's not okay," she muttered into his neck. Squeezing ever tighter. As tight as she could, that she might cut off his breathing. He didn't mind. He didn't care. He wished she'd never let go.

"I'm gonna go now, okay?" he told her. "I'm gonna set you down and just go," his voice processor broke for a moment, and before he realized, he was crying too. He looked up, past Mikaela's wet hair, and saw Vincent. Tanya. Staring at him with disbelief.

"No—Simon, please," she pulled back to look at him. Her hands on his cheeks. Their eyes meeting, and she was still crying.

"It's better this way," he whispered to her, bringing up a hand to wipe at her face. "Have your mom braid your hair, okay? Win a few fights for me on Friday—when you play."

She nodded. Hurried. Desperately. Tears still freely flowing.

" _Simon_ ," Tanya spoke again. Her voice was quiet and dangerous.

Just as he'd promised, Simon set Mikaela down. She latched onto him again, immediately, her face buried in his chest. One more hug. One last moment before he pushed her back, and she couldn't withstand his strength. She stepped back, and when Tanya put her hands on her shoulders, she shook them off. Arms folded, frowning, crying.

"Leave," Tanya pointed to the door. "If I ever see you again—"

"You won't," Simon promised. He looked right at Vincent next, winced, "I know where I stand. It's not here."

Vincent sucked in a breath that nobody heard. Frowned, and watched as Simon straightened his shirt. He turned. The door had never looked so terrifying. Alone. Threatening. There were so many words fluttering about Simon's head, but there was no choice now. Tanya had made his choice for him—if he left now. He knew what would happen if he didn't. Authorities. Deactivation. Death, maybe, was what it really was. Maybe he would find nothing better on the streets of Detroit, but it was better than that. It was a chance. It was a choice. With his first step, he couldn't help but wonder about how fast it had all come crumbling down. How long it had been building up inside of Tanya, with the way she had shouted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks if you've stuck with me this far! This is only the beginning.  
> [Check Out My Tumblr If You Want To See More](https://tantumuna.tumblr.com)


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's me again. Sorry about the delay. I got sick over the weekend, added onto my long shifts, which usually tire me out too much to right anyway. And THEN Depression decided that I wasn't Down In The Dumps Enough, so I had to spend a day dealing with that. And now, here we are, chapter 10.
> 
> It's been a long road getting here, and I want to thank everyone who's stuck with me. Ch11 will be officially beginning PartII of my little story here, and I'll let you figure that out as you read this chapter. Also, love everyone's comments! They really perk me up, and I keep every single one of them.
> 
> As always, you guys can talk to me on tumblr if you want.  
> [Andy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/agentandromed) made a [Spotify playlist](https://open.spotify.com/user/cerissweeshnaw/playlist/1jR46aJs71FfwSoWp5hJhi?si=oF2l8dOzT6mewGSBpYHvyQ) for Simon, based on this fic, too! Check it out!

February 1st, 2036-

There had been one perk to the traveling Simon had done, previously, and it was the number of abandoned houses he had seen. Some were for sale, but they were so collapsed in on themselves, that only a mad man would ever think to buy, and that was where he had found a place for himself. Amongst the fallen timbers of a house, not a fifteen-minute walk outside of the neighborhood where the Wilks' house still stood. He'd learned quickly that there was nothing he could do for walking around all day. It became cumbersome, tiresome, and the stares were more than he could deal with after what had happened. Pretending to be shopping had become obsolete after the first day—Tanya had cut off his access to the accounts within seconds. He couldn't help but feel she was more than happy to have him gone.

The house had been all there was. Simon had spent two days shut off before he finally woke up on the third—to the sound of pounding rain and the dripping on his shirt. He'd looked at the considerable wet spot pooling down over his shoulder, and then up. To the hole in the roof that he had no doubt noticed and elected to ignore. Which he regretted now, but there was no turning back the time. The rain just dripped on through, and he stared forward. There was a half-crumbled fire place in front of him, one of the old models that still required wood and a match. Nothing quite like the electric one that he'd laid next to with Vincent. But that thought. He wanted it gone. Cut out. And still. Almost like a ghost, he could reconstruct the memories out in front of him. All it took was a little bit of effort, and the fireplace was rebuilt, shiny and electric like the one he knew, and holographic figures were splayed out in front of him.

Being turned off was the only thing that had kept him from thinking about this, from replaying the memories. Stopping that tug in his chest that he couldn't quite place—certainly couldn't define—and hated. He couldn't even stop himself from watching. When he tripped. When Vincent had tried so hard to catch him—but that was inevitably going to fail. And they fell. Simon thought that meant something. Maybe he'd just wanted it to mean something, as surely there had been signs. If he wanted to sit there and dig through every corner of his memory data, he could. He might even find something he didn't want to see. That he'd walked blindly into something and had the audacity to be shocked when it all came crashing down. As if he could ever find a place with humans.

Still.

Simon stood. He didn't bother to straighten his clothing, to fix his hair. He was half drenched, and even. Even a little cold, so he wrapped his arms around himself and walked through the ground floor of the house. It was set up so differently, so empty, that he almost wasn't sure what had gone where. Wondered, ever briefly, what type of family had lived here. He'd even spent a few moments looking things over, when he'd first found the place—there had been a fire of some sort. Years ago, long gone, and damage never repaired. The family long gone. Homeless, maybe. Simon felt homeless. And the rain wasn't so bad when he looked out the window. Certainly, it wasn't normal for an android to go wandering about this time of night when it was pouring, but he had little else to be doing. Not with this much on his mind, and the rain would keep him from powering down for a bit longer.

Mikaela had gone through a phase. Not a long phase, but long enough that Simon had etched it into his own programming. She'd been terrified of thunderstorms, after some class discussion about tornadoes, during a natural disaster lecture in general sciences. For nearly a month, she'd been convinced that a thunderstorm meant tornado and refused to sleep, at all, and Simon had stayed with her in her room until she had. Her fear had eventually gone away, but Simon's little programming glitch to sit in her room with her all night had not. It boomed back to life with every sound of thunder and kept him awake. He didn't know quite what to call that either, but he tried to keep it at bay as he walked along the sidewalk.

The way back to the house was ingrained in his mind. He could've done it eyes closed and sensors off at this point, but he didn't. He kept his eyes blaring and straight through the rain, a blue path lining his every footstep. Like a light, more than anything, as he stepped on. It was late, after ten, he surmised. He could've looked, but he felt foggy. Even his mind had locked up with his joints from how long he'd been sitting on the floor in that old house. The exact time didn't feel relevant. He barely wanted to know the day. To know he'd been gone for as long as he had been—it was almost too much. And not enough. As he was staring down the driveway of the Wilks' residence. Empty, as always, with the garage door closed. He scanned forward, and there was no car. Which was strange. It was Friday, late, so there was no reason for the car to be gone.

He almost hated that he remembered with how badly he wanted to forget—if androids could forget. Maybe now, he'd be able to find some way past all the garbled protocol in the back of his mind that kept him from just deleting the entirety of what he'd done—what he'd let happen, but that seemed a farfetched dream. For the future, anyway, but in the present, he slid down to the sidewalk in front of their house. His back up against the wall that separated the house from the rest of the world and stared forward. Knees up, against his chest, resting his head on his folded arms. He could see the faint blue glow, now, from the armband. He reached back to pick at it, for the first time, and peeled it back to see his skin underneath. He'd never once thought too much about it. There had never been the capacity _to_ think about it—it was the uniform. He wore it. But, now. Things seemed a little stranger.

The only time he'd ever had it off was when it had been removed. Still burning at the back of his mind. He left the armband there and slouched down a little farther, dropping his head between his knees. This was pathetic. This was nothing short of pathetic—sitting in here one of the only days it would ever rain instead of snow, waiting. Waiting for something, for what, he didn't even know. Just basking in the cold blue glow of his own uniform. A uniform he'd never hated until this very moment. He wanted it gone. To replace the memory of the only other time he'd ever taken it off—had it removed, he reminded. Tried, desperately, to remind himself it wasn't him, until his LED was blaring red, and there was the sound of a creaky gate.

Simon jolted and scrambled back. Caught. He'd been caught, and they were going to call the police on him. Have him arrested. Deactivated. Wiped. Recycled. _Destroyed_. But.

"Si?" Mikaela was crying. Or, it was the rain. Simon couldn't tell, and he didn't care. She was throwing herself at him a second later, knees bare and skinned on the pavement, but it didn't matter. He caught her. Desperately. Maybe it was rain on his face now, too, but he wrapped her up so tightly in his arms he could feel her gasp for air. Then, a moment before he loosened.

"Mikki—" Simon's voice processor broke for a moment, and he swallowed.

"I—I saw the light. I—I," she choked on her words for a minute. Shifted, so she was sitting in Simon's lap, legs around his waist, and wiped at her face. Her hair was down and sticking to any piece of skin it could find. A mess. He did his best to curl it back, to see her and her bright blue eyes.

"Why are you still awake?"

"You're such a _nag!"_ she nearly shrieked, slapping her hands into Simon's chest before collapsing against him a second later. He knew, now, that she was crying. Her entire body shook with her sobbing, and she squeezed onto him as hard as he could. "It's Friday!" Of course. "I can stay awake late!"

He rubbed down her spine, soothingly, and let out a shuddering breath, "Okay. Okay, you're right."

"M-Mom and _Dad_ went out," there was a bitter taste on her tongue though, when she said it. She curled up almost impossibly still, as close to Simon as she could manage. "You have to stay."

"Not for long."

"Then why did you come back!?" she wrenched herself away immediately, but not too far. Her fingers were still bunched up in his clothes. "You're—you're an _ass!_ "

"Hey," Simon clapped his hands to her face, around her cheeks, frowning, "watch your language. I—" but he cut himself off, sighed. Dropped his arms to his sides where his hands slapped the ground. "I'm sorry."

It's all he could muster. All he really had left. The momentary discipline play had felt like too much, in that moment. A bit of normality he wasn't allowed to have, anymore. Hardly wanted.

Mikaela sniffed and wiped at her face again. The rain was going a coming just a little harder. A little faster. And they were both, like fools, still sitting there. He couldn't go inside with her, and she couldn't leave with him. It'd only been three days, and already the toll—he could see it in her eyes. The house had always been empty, at the best of times, except he was there. He'd always been there, he left so rarely. But now. He knew she'd been in that house alone, with Butter and her video games. Maybe she hadn't gotten homework finished yet. Maybe she'd given it all up to text with Gale—who knows, with no one free at all hours to take her, if she'd ever get to visit again. Not in the coming months. Not without a bus pass, at least.

"I had history homework today," Mikaela started. Her tone was punctuated perfectly with the rain, and she ended it with a sniff. "I did it."

"I'm proud of you," Simon whispered. Somewhere, he found the strength to reach up and take Mikaela's hand in his own. Squeezed it, and she squeezed back.

"I miss when you did it though. I hate history. It's boring."

"You'll need to understand it, one day," Simon urged. "It'll be important. I'm sure."

She shook her head, "But it's _stupid_! I could—I like math," she decided, instead. Something positive. There was too much negativity.

Simon somehow managed to crook a smile, "What of science?"

"I like science, too," she puffed out her cheeks. She stole back her hand, so she could cross her arms, hunch her shoulders. Defensive. Simon knew that one.

"Math and science are what made me," Simon told her, gently. He put his hands on her shoulders like he always had, to keep her calm. Happy, maybe—if it were possible. "You should pursue it, if it makes you happy."

She nodded, quickly, and leaned forward again. Her face up against Simon's neck, and now she wasn't so mad at him. "I'll do what I want," she muttered. He felt the yawn, the sudden out pour of breath on his skin, and smiled.

"Mikki, you need to go to bed. It's late," he tried to pry her off, but she was relentless.

"Where are you gonna go? You can't go. You can't, you just can't," she was shaking her head. But, her voice was trailing off. She was tired, exhausted even. She rarely stayed up this late, and she was bluffing to try and pretend otherwise. Simon knew better than anyone, the amount of sleep she needed, required, and wanted.

"I have someplace. I'm safe, I promise." That was enough to at least get her to sit up again, to look Simon directly in the eyes.

"Is it nice?"

It was a roof, he supposed, though it leaked in many places, "Yes. It's very nice."

"You'll come and see me, won't you? Maybe?"

Simon rested his head against the stone wall, watched her for a moment before he glanced up at the rain. Falling. Dripping. They were both soaked, "when your parents aren't home. I'll try."

"M-Mom said you can't access my phone anymore, is that true?" she gripped his collar, watched with a bitten lip as Simon nodded. "What about my computer? Oh—I'll set up a special account on that messenger. You can do that, right?"

"I should be able to. Only to tell you when I'm coming, though. We can't talk, Mikki. They'll find out—"

"I know! I know! I won't let them get you," she slapped her palms into his cheeks, lightly. It was the easiest way to put it. Gentlest, because they both knew, deeper, what she meant. That she was also afraid of what would happen if Vincent or Tanya knew he was still here. Coming back around. Still in contact with Mikaela.

"It won't be often."

Mikaela nodded.

"I have to hide—if people find me—"

Mikaela yawned this time. "I'll make it tomorrow. You'll know it when you find it," she told him, then excused herself from his lap. She stood up, waved, and without fanfare, disappeared back inside the house. Simon didn't leave until he saw the lights go off, and even then, he stood by the gate for a beat longer. Watching, waiting, counting. Fifteen minutes, and he knew Mikaela would be asleep.

 

February 5th, 2036-

He hadn't felt safe, really, to go back until then. He'd found the account Mikaela had made, as if she was being sneaky by naming herself Bonky in the details, after their robot. It wasn't as though either Tanya or Vincent were very active in her life anyway, so the secret was well enough. Blatant enough, still, that Simon was able to find it without searching very hard, but he hadn't done anything otherwise save sit in that house and watch cars go by. There was so much time to think, to search. He spent an unnatural amount of time looking at articles behind his eyelids. One word caught his interest, and he'd read everything there was to know about it.

Deviant.

There were only a few articles. Thirteen, in total, and none very detailed. Most of the androids had been found and destroyed, and there was nothing on him. He searched himself over and over again. In every combination he could think of. No articles. No news. Not even a call. Nobody had reported him missing. Much less a _deviant_ , if that's what he was. Still, the articles weren't very detailed, and the Detroit Police Department wasn't talking, if they knew. CyberLife hadn't talked. It was all silent, quiet, and Simon reread the articles several times over to fill it. Until he was certain that even a human could've memorized each one, he did not stop. It took exactly one day to do it, and he opened his eyes again on the fifth to the bright and shining sun. Just a flurry of snow powdering on in the air. Early.

He was still wearing the uniform, but he'd lost the armband not long ago. In a dumpster on his way back to the abandoned little house, where he was sure nobody would find it. And, if they did, he'd be long gone. It was just a lost armband, and until they were implanting them into an android's skin, which at least made Simon smile, they were sold at CyberLife stores. It wasn't of any concern to a passerby. And, he didn't miss it. The glowing, the pressure on his arm. Having it gone had been good for him, he thought. But, he still wanted to ditch the rest of the uniform. Something that he could wear and maybe throw a hat on, to hide the LED. It would mean he would be able to go outside, at least. Walk around like a human, which had always been a dangerous thought. To be a human, to look so close to one and yet not quite be there. Without the getup. Well.

He decided there was nothing left to do and sent Mikaela a message. That night, if it so pleased her, he would show up. It was a Tuesday, so Vincent would be late at the University with classes. One good thing about his connectivity was how easy it was to gather information. Just a search through the University's site, and he had seen every class Vincent was teaching—this semester, he had a higher-level Psychology class that went until nine in the evening. Tanya was never home, anyway. Even if she was, Mikaela wasn't banned from going outside. She didn't do it often, but there as snow piled up on the ground from the overnight fall—surely, she would might enjoy playing in it. Even more so if Simon were there, hidden back behind the wall where Tanya couldn't just look at the window and see him.

But, he received a message back with a smiley face. That Tanya had already informed her—this early in the morning, and Simon realized it was almost ten—that she would be dropped off while Tanya and Matt went off site to do some work. Not back to the office, because that had always been a little too stiff, if they needed to bring Mikaela home. It was the only information he needed to confirm that it was a safe night to visit Mikaela. There was the matter of the rest of the day to kill, and for the first time, he found himself curious how he might go about that. It was. Excitement. Simon was excited with no outlet. Mikaela would be at school, all day, and even then, there was still a matter of time before he could arrive. Reading the articles again would just kill the mood, and he certainly couldn't go about walking outside. All that remained was would he be able to stay shut down until the time came?

It was worth a shot, at least. But this time, he made himself comfortable on the old couch left to rot over the years. It wasn't particularly graceful, or comfortable, but it was better than the floor where he'd confined himself so far. At least now, he knew he deserved slightly better than the old rotted planks. And, if there was a problem. He might take the time to clean himself off before he went. Seeing Mikaela gave him a shot of something. Adrenaline, maybe. Pride—he didn't actually produce adrenaline.

At nine-thirty sharp, he was walking down through the streets again. It was a little more suspicious than last time, without the armband, but nobody ever walked around this late. Except trouble makers, and it had taken exactly one unfortunate incident for Simon to learn how to avoid them. Unfortunately, there was no one to rush him to the repair room anymore, but he'd made do. His skin had eventually healed itself over, and everything looked fine. It had prompted more article searching, when he'd realized there was trace left on him. His scans had called it red ice, and his searching had called it a menace to society. A new wave of addiction taken to the streets and causing erratic behavior.

Simon had spent less time looking at that than he had anything else. There was, however, an article from Mikaela's school. Gale had gone onto the state-wide science fair with her project had won. He meant to confirm it that evening, when he saw Mikaela again. Just a fifteen-minute walk, not out of a depressed state this time. He felt excited. Elated. His heart was beating faster than maybe was safe, but that was perfectly alright. Because, when he arrived at the gate those fifteen minutes later, Mikaela was already standing outside in her boots and her coat, bundled up like it was freezing. Maybe it was. Not having to check for these things was becoming very _freeing_.

"Simon," she breathed, ran to him and pressed up against him as close as she could. He held her back, and their openness confirmed that nobody was home. Not yet.

"Do you know when your parents will be home?" he asked.

In reply, Mikaela pulled out her phone to wave it in Simon's face. Her big, wordless answer, that they would tell her when they were on their way, or close by. Whatever it was, she didn't elaborate, and just pushed her phone back into her pocket.

"Did you do your homework?" he asked and laughed when she slapped him. "I'm kidding."

"I didn't _have_ any homework," she stuck her tongue out. "I _have_ an appointment with a really stupid android," arms folded.

"Is it true, then? Gale win the big science fair?" he pulled away to lean against the stone wall. Mikaela nodded, "Yeah! Monika took her and everything. She sent pictures, wanna see?"

She was already stepping closer, phone back out, and opening up the photo application. She had several shots, sent directly from Gale. In a few, she was looking particularly nervous in her surroundings, but others, she was bright and happy, and Monika was almost— _almost_ —smiling next to her. Gale had apparently only gotten back a few days ago and had been more tired than ever before at school. She slept through English that day and had gotten in trouble. Only, the scolding had been exasperated, because Gale couldn't stay focused long enough to actually listen to it, and the teacher had given up before he could finish. Mikaela started laughing half way through the story, and Simon couldn't contain a smile either.

"Oh, and," Mikaela swiped to another photo, "look at this." She held up a picture of a test. A math test, Simon realized, with a big one-hundred and five written on the top in big, red numbers. Simon smiled and reached out to ruffle her hair. Flurries dusted off. Snowing, again.

"Good job, Mikki. Top of your class yet?"

"No, no way," she shook her head adamantly. "If I did that, there'd be _expectations_. No thanks. Mom went to school here—everybody wants another Tanya Harrison," she rolled her eyes.

"Harrison?" Simon tilted his head to the side.

"Maiden name? Thought you androids were smart," she raised an eyebrow. Simon smiled, nodded, and kept his mouth shut. He'd thought she'd gone _back_ to her maiden name, which might imply something that maybe Mikaela didn't need to know about. He thought twice about mentioning it, didn't, and listened as she prattled on. More school. More tests, projects, something she'd almost failed because she wanted to see if she could, and Simon marked it all down. To remember.

"Hey," Mikaela snapped her fingers. "What have you been up to?"

A sudden departure from the norm in her conversations, mostly self-absorbed, which is how he expected a child to be. Wanted her to be, because it meant she was too busy to see the outside—where he was learning things were not so cut and dry. But, she was curious now, and he gaped at her a little. Opening his mouth, closing it, shifting is jaw in such a way like he might grind his teeth, but he knew better.

"Squatting," he decided on. "In that house I told you about."

She wasn't convinced.

"I've been doing a lot of research, for the most part. I can't just go walking about, but I've been reading articles. That's how I knew about Gale," he tapped his LED. "I've been…thinking, though. About losing the uniform. I might be able to actually walk around the city if I do," he laughed, weakly. He omitted the part where he had the run in. That would just needlessly worry Mikaela. She had better things to worry about than Simon's inability to protect himself.

"I can help with that," she perked up, satisfied. "Dad's got a bunch of old clothes—"

"I really don't want to wear Vincent's—"

"You got money I don't know about?" she huffed. She moved to lean against the wall, right beside Simon, and nudged him with her elbow. "I don't know what happened. Nobody will tell me. Whatever it was, it can't _actually_ be worth wearing that uniform."

Simon stiffened. She was right, unfortunately, and he looked down at her. It had been a disguised question, ones she was so incredibly good at. She wanted to know what happened. Was hoping that her phrasing would lead Simon into an explanation, and that it wouldn't be so bad. She'd only seen half the argument, after all, and wanted more. A curious mind of a curious child. Simon only sighed and ruffled her hair again.

"Clothes, then."

The disappointment was evident on Mikaela's face. It was better this way, even if she was going to pout at her age. If she was going to find out, Simon hoped it was at least some heartfelt confession that he wouldn't have to give. There was too much guilt for that. Tanya might tell her, one day, when she's old enough to understand and take it as a lesson to be learned. There was at least that—Tanya knew well enough not to shatter every thought and hope her daughter had about Simon and androids. Vincent would never admit to his own mistakes, so he had that going. It was all better swept under the rug. Which meant he'd have to gratefully accept whatever clothes of Vincent's that Mikaela brought out for him to wear, but he waited for it gracefully. He needed to get out of the uniform.

Mikaela returned with an entire ensemble. Jeans, t-shirt, sweatshirt, and jacket. She set them on top of the wall and stepped back, slapping her hands to her thighs and popping up on her toes. Waiting for Simon to look, wondering why it took him so long to take the deep breath he needed to do it. But, eventually, he peered through the clothing. He and Vincent had been roughly the same size, roughly. Vincent was bigger: Simon remembered _well_ , that Vincent had been bigger. Mikaela must have picked up on that, because there was a belt stashed inside the jacket. Then, the sweatshirt. Old, worn, and a faded logo speckled on the front. University of Detroit.

"Is it alright?" Mikaela asked. "It's old—he won't miss it. I thought that'd be best. Since, we're stealing?" and she produced a hand of cash in the same breath, to really drive that home. Simon stared at it for longer than Mikaela liked, so she frowned. "Mom cut of your access to the accounts. You might need it. Just—"

Simon took it from her then and stuffed it into the jeans pocket, "Are my shoes okay with you? Up to code?" he couldn't muster the smile he needed to make the joke he had intended. Mikaela stiffened up.

"Walk through the mud," she provided. "They're too clean."

"Thank you—for the clothes. I'll take them with me."

"Simon—" Mikaela stopped herself short, looking him over for a minute, then sighed. "You're gonna be okay, right?"

"Probably," he nodded. With a complete lack of conviction. If Mikaela noticed, she didn't say anything. She wouldn't. Instead, she reached forward to wrap her arms around his shoulders and hug him, on her tip toes, as tight as she could. She didn't need to say anything more than that. He'd stay safe, even if she was the only person he'd do it for. There was a chance that everything would go just right, and if he could stay hidden for long enough, it might even be the first year he could get her a birthday present.

"I need to get going," he whispered into her hair, and she didn't argue. Not this time. She didn't bother to say goodbye, either. Just stood there as Simon gathered up the clothes and went off on his way.

He didn't stop walking, didn't even glance outside of his path, until he was safe back inside the house. Changing his clothes felt like a panic, this time. A desperate panic, and he was so ready to leave the life he'd had behind. The uniform was the last piece he had of it, save the memory files he couldn't erase. If he'd had fire, he'd have burned the uniform. But, instead, it went in the same dumpster a few houses down that he'd thrown the armband into. Where he conveniently found an old baseball cap. A little dirty, the bill a little crooked, but it fit perfectly fine. Just low enough that his LED was covered, and like that, he had become an old alumnus from the University of Detroit. The clothes didn't quite fit, but he hadn't expected them too. And, as Mikaela requested, he found a patch of grass, clear from melting snow, and stepped through the mud. Dirty shoes, the hems of the jeans as well.

When he stopped to look at himself, in the reflection of a half-broken window. He almost smiled. He looked. Human.

 

February 16th, 2036-

Mikaela was never supposed to message him first, they'd talked about that. Even though Simon had nothing to do, it was still better if he initiated things. At least, it gave them a scapegoat. Mikaela had agreed to it, but she was breaking it with an excited looking face that Vincent was heading out for the evening, some night on the town, or whatever it was he did when he left this late. Simon's schedule was relatively empty, with only one new article in the week showing up under the search about _deviants_. There was only so much lazing around he could do until his joints started to lock up, so agreeing to her little rendezvous would be good for him. Not without a message back.

> _Your mother?_

> _Business trip_

Simon could almost feel the eye roll in the comment, so it was once again a night where Mikaela was alone in the house. With Butter, and as Simon had found out, the little robot he'd made. She'd kept him around specifically for nights like these. Something to do when video games got too tedious and there was nothing on television—there never was. Doing one of those, or absolutely nothing, of course was an option for Mikaela, but never quite as viable as one where she got to see Simon. Vincent must have been going out to some party with his colleagues, because it was nearly seven when Mikaela had sent that message, and seven-thirty before Simon was making his way along the sidewalk again. There were other people out walking around still, with the time, and Simon took note of how many of them didn't stop to at least glance. Validation that his disguise was working, for now, and that gave him a little boost. Maybe, eventually, he wouldn't have to hide.

The walk to the Wilks' house was uneventful. Quiet. Easy. And one scan over the house proved that it was, indeed, empty. Mikaela was sitting on the front step with her phone in her hands, furiously swiping at it. Playing a game, most likely, just to pass the time. Whatever game it was, it couldn't have been too interesting. Her head jerked up at the slightest sound of footsteps, and their eyes met. She shoved her phone away in her pocket and hopped down the stairs, across the lawn, and to the gate. She greeted Simon like she always did, with a tight hug around his waist.

"You look so stupid in that hat," she commented. They were relatively alone, so Simon tugged it off.

"I know, but it hides my LED," he pointed to it. Mikaela hummed and nodded, happy with his comment. Still, she took the hat and set it atop the stone fence.

"Still squatting?" she asked, wide eyed and smiling.

"Yeah. Boring, I know, but I'm not sure what else to do."

"You should try to find other androids, that's what you should do—and before you stop me," she held up her hand before Simon could speak, his mouth already agape, "I watch the news. I read articles for history class, too. Teacher's got this dumb _current events_ thing he makes us do. I found a few."

"A few…?" Simon blinked.

"Articles. They're calling you guys deviants, right?" her head to the side, hands behind her back. "That's why you're hiding?"

"I…suppose," he shrugged, still a little shocked by her comment. He hadn't ever thought she would have gone outside of herself to find this information. She might have done it purely for class, but there was no reason to make it about androids. They weren't exactly popular or wide spread articles. She would have had to look, and then make the connection between the articles and Simon. At least it proved that she still thought about him. At least it proved what he had been thinking since he saw the articles.

He was a deviant. Something about it left a sour taste though. Like it was wrong.

"Most of them don't end so well," she bit her lip. "That won't happen to you, right?"

Simon shook his head, "I'll be careful." He'd read the same articles. Some of them were unconfirmed—just a missing android. Others, the androids had shut down, self-destructed, under the stress. That was something that Simon hadn't experienced. Not yet.

"You better be. I'll be watching," she stiffened up, folded her arms as if Simon knew what she was implying. And, he did. It wasn't just that she always watched the news—because she did, as per Tanya and Vincent, who couldn't seem to get enough of it. It was specifically in that context, that she'd be watching it for Simon. In hopes that he hadn't been found shut down somewhere in a ditch. Or worst, found alive and taken in. If that were to be the case, Simon didn't want to think about what came after.

"Don't watch for too long. You have things to do," and she laughed at that. Simon laughed, too. Gently. The tension was shattered. There was no real need to sit there talking about such morbid things.

Instead, they eventually sat down on the sidewalk, where Mikaela leaned up against Simon's shoulder and started spinning her tales. History was not the only class with obnoxious assignments, apparently, and she talked about everything. From the book they had to read in English to the twenty-four hours they had been given to do almost one-hundred math problems. The latter, Mikaela had hated less, but it was _on top_ of the added reading assignment. She was staying up later, now, and Simon couldn't understand how this was fifth grade. He listened, quietly, and tried to keep his opinions to himself. He would have preferred Mikaela be enjoying her time as a child. Playing with her friends, with her cat. But, not all things went according to plan, he had learned.

"How is Butter, by the way?" Simon asked.

"Good. He sleeps a lot," she was pulling out her phone again to show off some pictures she'd taken. An album all of Butter—almost one-thousand pictures.

"It's the cold, you know," Simon reached over to swipe through a couple.

"He's lazy, then. Oh, look," she swiped one farther than where Simon had stopped. "He and Bonky are good friends." The picture was of Butter sitting on the little robot. Presumably, he'd been taking a ride on it while Mikaela was playing.

"I'm glad to see them getting along. Does the little robot still work alright?"

"Actually, I had to fix something the other day. Can you believe it? I'm working on fixing stuff," she clapped, leaving her phone to sit in her lap. "You were right, I should totally work on androids."

Simon laughed, "I did not say that, not exactly."

"I can do whatever I set my mind to. I'll build better androids than CyberLife ever could."

"Yeah—alright. I look forward to it," he leaned closer into her. Putting his arm around her while she started to flip through the album again. Each picture had its own story to tell, and she told each one gladly.

Simon just listened. He sat there, cuddled up against her with his eyes closed. Each story was documented away in his memory for him to look back at, directly in her voice. She went on, and on, and her stories changed to Lynn soon after. All about her new school experiences and what it was like not to see her every day. Then Gale, of course. As Simon had predicted, they hadn't had a sleep over since the incident. Since Simon wasn't around to chauffeur Mikaela wherever she needed to go. For that, he certainly had sympathy. He expressed it in his own way, in the way he listened and mumbled responses when she wanted them. Until, finally—

"I miss you, Si," she sounded defeated.

"I miss you, too. I can't stay forever, though. This probably isn't even safe," ironic as it was, his disguise probably made the encounter stranger to an outside perspective. Now that he looked the part of a man coming by to talk to a child. Save the LED blinking on his temple. Nobody would see that, though, with how they were sitting. When he faced Mikaela, the LED went towards the fence. Perfectly and adequately hidden away.

"Whatever," Mikaela rolled her eyes. "As long as you get to see me, that's all that matters."

It was a fine enough assumption, and Simon certainly appreciated the sentiment. He really wanted to believe that it was all that mattered. Except, maybe it wasn't. Maybe it was a conversation for a better time, though, because she had a new album to scroll through full of stories Simon needed to hear. For a half an hour, she rambled on, and then just a little longer. Simon talked intermittently, to keep himself from focusing on the cars driving by and the people who were no doubt staring. Until one car in particular could not be ignored. A car that had the permissions to open the large gate to the side and pull into the drive through.

"Oh no," Mikaela went pale.

Simon was already scrambling up, to grab his hat—as if that would help. But, he wasn't thinking. It was panic. Vincent.

"I have to go—I have to—" when Simon stood up, Mikaela next to him, Vincent was pulling himself out of the car at a frantic pace. The garage was open, but he hadn't pulled inside.

"Mikaela? What are you doing, get in here this—" Vincent all but ran to the edge of the fence, then stopped. Frozen where he stood, and Simon could almost see the fear in his eyes. Simon took a tentative step back. Something about it was too much. He didn't want Vincent to be that close.

"Simon…?" Vincent was quiet. Too quiet. Simon just shook his head. But Vincent was coming around the fence. Reaching for his phone, and the panic was rising. Simon could see his own stress level in his vision. Too high. Dangerously high. Vincent had almost reached out like he was going to _touch_ Simon.

To keep himself away, he jolted back a few more steps, until Mikaela was all that was between him and Vincent. The only problem remaining was that to _get away:_ Simon would have to go by Vincent. That's the way to the house. He had to—except. Was his stress level getting higher? Was his vision just a little blurry?

"Simon? Is that you?" Vincent stepped closer still, only to grab onto Mikaela. He was still staring at Simon. Inquisitive. Curious. With a protective grasp on Mikaela's shoulders. Like he really had started to believe the story, that Simon had been in the wrong. That Simon was some kind of predator.

But, Simon didn't answer. He didn't spare Mikaela a single look. He turned on his heel and ran. The opposite direction. In a direction he didn't even really know—or understand. But he ran. Ran, and ran, and ran. He didn't stop. Not until the neighborhood had disappeared from his view. Not until he didn't quite know where he was. Not until he'd found another house that looked so old and dilapidated that no one would ever dare look for him here. He dropped against the wall, inside, with his back towards the door where he'd entered, and noticed the tears a little too late to do anything.

Stress Level: 75%.

He wrapped his arms around himself, fingers trembling into the jacket fabric, and tried to regain control. His breath didn't matter—he could shut off the breathing. But the thoughts, _the thoughts,_ that were swimming around in his head. Those were not something he could shut off. He couldn't just turn off his thoughts, not unless he shut himself off and never turned back on. Which would be tantamount to suicide, and he had just finished promising Mikaela that he'd be careful. Stay safe. Not letting the authorities—or CyberLife—deactivate him didn't mean he could do it himself.

Mikaela.

His shivering stopped all at once when he thought about her. In that moment, he regretted all of it. From going to see her to running away like that. He hadn't even taken the time to _look_ at her before he ran away. He was too caught up in everything else. In _Vincent,_ to do anything other than run. Never seeing Vincent again would keep him alive and happy for a long time, so much that maybe he could even _die_ happy, at that point. Meeting his eyes like that had been enough for every touch of his fingers to come flooding back through Simon's system, and he could not stop shaking. Shaking. Shivering, maybe, but he took a deep breath instead.

One by one, he rebooted his systems. One by one. Until the shaking had stopped. Until the tears had stopped. Until stress level reached zero, again. And he could breathe. Only then did he stand up, on nervous legs. Still a bit unstable, but it was enough that he could walk. That he could have half a mind to check the time, and it almost broke him. Nine-thirty. That accounted for the stiffness in his limbs. The fogginess in his mind, and how low the sun was—gone, actually, when Simon stepped outside the house. It was black outside, snow falling. Slowly, but there was already a light blanket on the ground. It would track him straight back to the house, if he walked there.

He couldn't go back. Not without taking the long way. Or walking right past the Wilks' house again. With Vincent home, he didn't want to risk that. He couldn't risk it. Not even for Mikaela. She was everything, but he couldn't do that again. He couldn't _panic_ like that again, not if he wanted to somehow survive out here on his own. That wasn't a decision he wanted to make, not now, maybe not ever. But, Mikaela had left him messages in the time it took him to reboot.

> _Are you alright?_

> _Dad's not mad_

Simon gulped. He didn't read the rest of them. He processed them, tucked them away, and deleted the conversation. He wouldn't talk to her again—not like that. Not where they could find out. Not now, now that Vincent knew. It would put Simon in danger, and it may even put Mikaela in danger. He didn't want that. If anything at all, it went against his programming, to put Mikaela in danger. On a deeper level, it went against everything he believed in, now. She wouldn't be happy. He knew that, but it was the choice he had to make. For once, in her best interest, instead of just what she wanted. He couldn't go back to the house now, either. Not in his resolve to never look at that house again. Instead of making his way back that direction, he walked forward, across the street, and down. A new neighborhood. New houses, new cars.

He walked for what felt like hours before he began to recognize anything. In the hours, or really ten minutes, the neighborhood had sort of introduced itself to him again. One he'd never been in much, only as a drive through when he was making his way out for shopping. Like a bridge disguised with houses, just another landmark. In the dark, it looked so different. Felt different, too, almost ominous. Some of the neighborhoods weren't the best, Simon remembered that much. But something was different about this one, on this particular night, at this particular second. Something was clawing at him, through his now very red LED. Almost like a forced connection, one he succeeded in fighting off before the footsteps followed. Quick, and almost angry in their pace. Simon whirled around, in his own fear, to meet this android face to face—his heart sunk.

"Monika?! Monika!" he caught her just before she collapsed into him. The half of her face had been somehow dented in, and there was thirium dripping down and round her cheek, out of the half-broken eye socket. The skin on her hands had been all but pulled back, when she grabbed onto Simon.

"Is you—Simon, yes," her voice was raspy. Like the processor was about to go out. "Simon—Mikaela tell me everything in whispered. Hushed, hushed. No time, no," Monika was wobbling, and when her knees knocked, Simon went down with her.

"What are you talking about? You saw Mikaela?" but Monika was more concerned with pushing up Simon's sleeve. There was blaring red in her vision, and she knew what she had to do.

"He never home. Bastard father never home but one night. One night and he—he try to hurt Gale," Monika shook her head fiercely. "He try, and I not let him. Take bat to me instead, but that is just fine."

"Wait—Gale? Is Gale—?"

"Gale safe," Monika's glare was intense. Sharp. Dedicated. "Gale _always_ safe." She was frantic, still, until she had finally bared most of Simon's arm, and she grabbed onto him. Nails, digging into his skin, and he might have thought it would hurt if he could feel. Instead, he reacted in the only way he knew how—retracted his own skin.

There was a sudden _flash._ Of panic. Of pain—androids couldn't feel pain, but in that moment. Monika had been struck across the face. Fallen. Gale was crying in the corner by the door. The man—a man Simon had never seen—coming closer. Closer. Fear. _Fear_. But there was something more. Something beneath it all, but there was no regret. It cut out after that, in a strange garble of information pieces that made no sense anymore. Monika's memory system was failing. Simon's eyes flew opened.

_Monika_ was failing.

"Monika—what—"

She shook her head to shut him up. Her other hand, then, on his other arm, and she tried again. The flash came back, in black and blue, painted out for him in static murals until he saw the city. Saw downtown Detroit in all her buildings and her people and _paintings._ There was an android, there, in the data that had seen Monika in the city. Seen the way she kept her hands-on Gale's shoulders and did not look away. Ever. And that man. It all faded off and into the sides of shops, in alley ways. Covered with symbols. Symbols and then one word.

_Jericho._

Simon gasped and jolted away. Ripped his arms back and let his skin recover the bared surfaces. He was panting, panting and staring ahead as Monika looked at him. Blankly, he realized a moment later. She was just. Staring. Hunched over where she knelt and unmoving. The LED on her temple had gone dark. Monika, who couldn't handle the sudden rush of freedom and information, had shut down. Simon inched himself away, farther still, until he found the strength enough to pull himself to his feet. He gulped. Stared onward just a little longer until he decided this was not where, or how, he wanted to be found. With a dead android. Better to leave her there, then maybe someone with the tools could sort her story out better than she could—bet than Simon had seen.

His skin prickled where she'd touched him. A lingering memory as he turned and _ran_. Whatever mattered before didn't matter now. Simon couldn't focus on it—on Gale, on Mikaela, on whatever Monika had been trying to tell him. Only on the word _safe_. He trusted it. Forgot all hope of context and narrowed in on that one word. For whatever it was worth, Monika had used her last moments to _find_ Simon, after learning what he'd become, and shared that one word with him.

_Jericho_ and all the pictures that came with it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part II is literally Simon at Jericho let's go   
> [Check Out My Tumblr If You Want To See More](https://tantumuna.tumblr.com)


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mmm guess who's back with a new chapter it's Me ya fools. Dark David Cage at your service with the first official Drama of Jericho. Hope y'all enjoy! I gotta spend a few bit of time now actually planning the next few chapters, since I don't have anything until Josh arrives but ehhhhhhhhh it's fine nobody has to know.
> 
> Quick Summary: Simon Grows Balls
> 
> Also, check out the [character designs](https://tantumuna.tumblr.com/post/176560120696/character-designs-that-go-with-the-newest-chapter) for some of the new androids we meet in this chapter!
> 
>  **IMPORTANT INFORMATION!!**  
>  It has recently come to my attention that someone was posting this fic on wattpad. This story has been EXCLUSIVELY posted on archiveofourown, here. My only usersnames are OneofWebs (onelastecho), tantumuna, and onebecamenone. If you see this story posted under ANY username that is not one of these three, please contact me and let me know so I can take the appropriate action.  
> Story stealing is NOT tolerated. If anyone wants to show their support for my fic, I would ask that you comment! Show your support by joining our community and talking with me on tumblr. Do NOT, under any circumstance, repost my story.

February 16th, 2036- 10:00pm

Simon had no choice left, not really. Not if he wanted any sense of security back in his circuits, so when he saw the first picture behind his eyelids, he followed it. Downtown Detroit—from here, it would be a bit of a walk. But, it was late. He could _run_ if he wanted to. Instead. He adjusted his hat, shoved his hands in his pockets and took a brisk pace. A shuffle he'd seen many people do when they were cold and wearing insufficient clothing, which he was sure he qualified for. All was left was to just wade through the still falling snow. He didn't look back. Not to Monika. Not to the house. He couldn't. Wouldn't. The one choice he'd made so far that he believed in without reservation. There was absolutely no good to be found where he'd come from. All he could do was hope that _Jericho_ would shed some light on his current situation.

While he walked, he searched. News was fast, almost live sometimes. There was already news circulating, social media mostly, about the _attack_ that Gale's father no doubt endured. A news cast, then, and Simon watched it in silence. He recognized the house, but certainly not the man who was standing there beside a detective. Gale's father, he presumed, was telling a tale about how Monika had attacked him and his daughter. What bits and pieces Monika had been able to share with him proved that wasn't true, but Simon would have known well enough anyway. Monika wasn't like that. But, from the information he was pulling, she was like something else. A suspiciously similar situation that had taken place not too far away, in which the android had been caught. A deviant, the article explained, but one that couldn't handle its own deviancy.

The sudden stress of freedom, of choices, of not having to walk in line was too much for it. It had simply shut down. Broken, defective. An older model, Simon noted. A generic house hold model manufactured not long after CyberLife had opened its doors. But, there was little other information to go on. All Simon could piece together was that it happened near immediately, in the certain instances that it did. Certain androids had survived it, and others hadn't, regardless of their manufacture date. Case by case situation, but. That made him safe from any imminent shutdown. As long as he didn't do anything too reckless, too dangerous—he might even be able to find some semblance of normality. Certainly, it sounded like a peaceful thing, save that he'd have to do it entirely in hiding. Not only for the LED still blinking furiously on his temple, but his face. He looked like every other PL600 model. The male model: blond hair and blue eyes, had been the most popular. The others fell out of date faster. He was falling out of date now.

He tried not to think too heavily on it. It would clog up his systems when he needed to be focusing on other things, like this image. There was only one, but he'd analyzed it long enough, now, to see the images inside of it. Like a key, an answer. Led him to a place called Ferndale, and as he might have imagined, with the time, the station he came up on was entirely, mostly, empty. Save the few people who found shelter in it this time of night, away from the cold. The walls were positively covered in paintings and graffiti, but only one matched the image Simon could see.

Careful of his surroundings, Simon approached the large mural on the wall. Red. Overwhelmingly red, and a symbol that stuck out in white like an afterthought. Simon sniffed then scanned it. As a subtle thing, just a glance over with his eyes, and the image in his vision changed over. A new one. A trial, he realized. One he'd have to overcome if he would have any hope of finding Jericho. He turned. There was a man sitting on the floor, between two backless benches. Old, bearded, and gray, with a cup in his hand. Simon reached into the pocket of his jeans and fingered the wad of cash, there. Slipped one bill out—a ten, he confirmed, when he looked—and dropped it into the man's cup before hurrying on his way. He didn't stick around long enough to hear the thanks.

The next picture was _orange_ and looked partially cut off, but that symbol was blaring in the corner. This one, Simon would have to look for. So, he thought, and he went on until he reached the exit to the station. Stairs beside a set of escalators—one for humans, one for androids. Simon didn't think twice before stepping onto the escalator and shoving his hands back on his pocket. He kept his eyes straight ahead, watching, and before he had even hit the ground, he could see the mural ahead of him. Large, orange; the image _had_ been cut off. In the back of his head, he knew there were several symbols hiding in this one. Each mural more difficult than the last, like some way to weed out the androids who wouldn't be able to make it. Simon stiffened up and walked through the open area. There were no cars on the road, and the little square with its flowers and its android parking—empty. Nothing save an android busied with her work. She didn't even glance at Simon as he approached the wall.

Two symbols, this time, before the image updated. Simon was already starting to feel the stress of the situation. Of the unknown. He didn't know where he was going, or even why. Just that Monika had seemed so desperate to give him this information. Maybe she had even intended to make this journey herself, if the stress hadn't _killed_ her. Simon gulped and started to hum. A familiar tune, one of Mikaela's silly pop songs. Something to keep him calm as he moved on, across the street. The picture was of the edge of a building, that much he could gather, with red, green, and purple—and a symbol. There was something oddly freeing about moving across the road, crossing another one around the bend, when the cross walks were red. But, he found the building's corner. Just a tall brick structure with a rainbow painted on it, beside a shop _Antic Games._ Closed for the evening.

Simon sniffed. He looked up at the building, kept himself close to the wall like he was just leaning. On the off chance someone would come by and think to ask who he was, what he was doing this late at night. Two symbols, amongst the whited painted stars. The image updated as Simon began his brisk pace again. This time, images trapped behind a wire fence. Paintings of old toy robots on the side of a building, an alley way, most likely. Simon stepped away from the building and continued down to the edge of the sidewalk, where he stopped. This was a part of Detroit he'd never been in, and from where he stood, there was no immediate choice to make. No exact way to go, and the images didn't come with a drawn-out map for him to follow. All he knew was that it had to be close, close enough that he'd be able to see it when he found it.

The other clues had been, so far.

He huffed and crossed the street, right through the intersection. Just in time for a car to whir by behind him, and the honk that trailed off with it nearly sent Simon into a panic. He fell into a building and gripped at his chest, which somehow, isn't helping. When he glanced down and remembered he's wearing Vincent's clothes, his legs buckled, and he dropped to the sidewalk. A stress level warning suddenly appeared, and Simon tried desperately to swipe it away. To no avail, and he eventually gave in with just a sigh. It took only a few minutes, three to be precise, before Simon pulled himself back up to his feet. His knees appeared to be working correctly this time, which meant he could walk. Once he straightened up, looked forward, he saw what appeared to be the only wire fence in the area.

"Stupid," Simon muttered to himself. He crossed the street again, back-tracking, and arrived at the small little cut of fence.

Three symbols, this time. Needlessly complicated, Simon thought, but he gripped onto the fencing and stared through it. Clue: updated. Simon straightened up and looked at it, a mural of a woman's face. A window in her hair and another building just off to the side. That mean it was high up, so he took a step back. He stepped until he had almost planted himself firmly in the road again before he saw the tips of her head peeking out behind the building right in front of him. Which meant the trail was going to get more difficult; deeper into the city. He stepped up to the fence and squatted, running his fingers over it. Maybe he'd been given a bit of strength in production for the furniture moving he'd done, but here, he used it to break the fence away from the posts. Maybe someone would fix it. Maybe not. He crawled through and stood.

In the back was an old parking lot, a tolled parking lot, if the abandoned booth was anything to say about that. From a time where people needed to man the booths. Simon paid it no mind and continued further forward, only to find that he would need to find three symbols to set off the update again. This was tedious, he decided, and looked around the parking lot for anything at all he could grab. He very well wasn't built for vaulting himself over a roof, so he would have to climb. There was a dumpster off to the side, one on wheels, which he grabbed and pushed towards the wall. A little hard, as it clanked against the side of the building, and Simon jolted with the noise. Then, collected himself. Pulled himself up on top of the dumpster and stood there, a little dumbly. It would be better to die trying than to have never tried at all, he supposed, and gave it his best jump.

He just barely missed the building, and in the scramble, he heard the dumpster fly back on its wheels and hit the pathetic little tree that had been trying to grow. Unimportant. He winced, trying desperately to pull himself up—shoes scraping into the side of the building. After an undignified clamber, he pulled himself up and sat with his legs dangled off the side. Breathing hard, and maybe he might have even broke a sweat if it were possible. Instead, he scanned the remaining symbols from where he sat. Then, he faced a whole new problem. Before him, once he stood, was a gaping hole in the roof. One glance over the side told him he really did not want to be the android that fell, and he gulped.

"Alright," he said, to no one in particular. He stood there for a long time, staring, analyzing, deciding his best course of action. One that wouldn't end in his untimely demise. "Here goes nothing."

There was a bar sticking out from a partially collapsed wall, and that would be his ticket over there. If he could just manage to execute his plan well enough—he got a running start and all but leaped off the edge. Grabbed the bar. He made it. He swung. He made it again and hit the ground with a loud thud. Rolled and came to a stop laying on his back. Stress level, high. Great. He knew that, but still, he was laughing. More of a frantic, manic laugh than anything, but as he pushed himself up, he couldn't help but stare back in awe that he had _done_ that. Clue: updated.

From here, the city—the inside of her—had completely collapsed. There was rubble, broken things, and shattered windows. Metal that couldn't stand the test of time. Buildings that were more dust than brick. More graffiti, more symbols to scan, and Simon proved himself capable with each passing moment. He found strength in his limbs he didn't know he had and had pulled himself up to another impossible height. He was feeling stiff, sure, but there was pride beneath it. Mikaela would've been shocked to see him scale the side of a building. He was shocked, but he entered, anyway. Clue: updated.

The structure is almost entirely empty, save the collapsed walls, and looks like it once had a purpose. There is only one symbol to find here, and it took Simon a minute longer than he wanted to admit to line up the pillars just right. But, he analyzed it, and the new image appeared immediately. A corridor, half collapsed, just to the right of where he stood. Simon didn't waste any time slinking his way through the fallen wall and past, to a set of stairs. There was something final about it, when he rounded the corner and saw the snow again. He was high up, he knew that much, and snow had drifted in past the stairs. He followed it up and through the opening.

It stole his breath. Jericho. A freighter stranded and falling apart. Just there, in the middle of the city, where no one would be able to look. Hiding in plain sight, and it suddenly felt very much like a game. Mikaela had always been good at hide-and-seek. Simon, not so much, because he'd tried not to cheat and scan for her presence. This was just like that, only nobody would be looking for a ship: fallen from grace and full of androids.

"I found it, Monika," he muttered. There was a smile on his face when he crossed the makeshift metal bridge. It had seen better days, certainly, but it would hold. It had to, because Simon didn't really know how he'd get across if it didn't.

But, he didn't rush. He took his steps slow and calculated. Not too much pressure, not too far out of place, not to disturb any of the rusting supports. It worked, and suddenly Simon was standing on the deck of the ship. This was where the clues ended, and finding his way inside would be entirely up to him, but in that moment, all he wanted to do was stand there and take it all in. There was already pride swelling up that he'd done it, even if were to meet his demise trying to traverse the inside of the ship, he'd still _found_ Jericho. Whatever it was, whatever secrets it held. All secondary when in comparison to the knowledge that he'd done it. Still, the open door to the side was ever enticing, and Simon made his way over to it.

The ship was dark. Cold. Loud, though, and every step Simon took reverberated through the entire structure. Spiked his stress levels, but that was something he would have to get used to. Sound, all around him, even when he was positive some of the footsteps did not belong to him. They definitely did not, but they were not panicked steps, and they were distant. Idle, he almost thought, and he followed them. Ducked around fallen beams, squeezed through doors just barely open enough to fit through. He scanned the surroundings when he couldn't see clearly and made his way around more and more rubble. Eventually, he found stairs. More stairs, and stairs beyond, until he made his way into what appeared to just be the hull of the ship. Large, open, and peppered with small fires, lit in cans where they couldn't spread.

Simon was staring. Horrified that someone was staring back.

After a moment, he pegged her for another android. If not for the scan, but for the LED clearly visible from where she had all of her hair pulled back into a poofed out pony-tail. She was still staring at him, hands sort of hovering awkwardly in the air, and he could just make out the features of her face in the low light. Soft eyes, a pointed nose, blonde. Wearing a plaid button up with a belt hanging low on her hips. Simon saw the different tools.

"Oh," she spoke first, the initial shock gone in an instant. She shifted her weight to one side, jutting her hip out for a place to rest her hand. "Welcome to Jericho."

Simon glanced around as he stepped closer. They _appeared_ to be alone, but his scans were picking up on other androids in the near vicinity. Out of sight. Hiding, maybe, and this one was the only one brave enough—foolish enough—to greet Simon head on. She didn't seem the least bit concerned, not even when Simon was three steps away from her. Nervously picking at the hem of his sweatshirt.

"Who… _are_ you?" he asked, a mere whisper.

"My name is Allison," she said, hand going to her chest as she introduced herself. "Allie, though. Please."

Simon nodded, then: "Simon."

She initiated the hand shake, firm and short, before it became just a hold and she dragged him a little deeper into the hull. "There's not many of us," she started, "but we're here and we're trying. Nobody new has showed up in such a long time though, so this is exciting. Over there," she pointed to an android sitting in the corner, wearing a jumpsuit, "that's Benjamin: resident gardener. Not that we have any plants, though," she shrugged.

"And there," she kept dragging him on, "she used to keep the lights up when we had them. But, like, sometimes things break? Name's Taylor. And," Allie came to a dramatic pause, right before a set of stairs. She pointed up, to where Simon suddenly saw a figure. Another android. Who'd been watching them.

"Calls herself Andromeda. We don't know why, and nobody asks," Allie was beaming, regardless of the mystery of situation. "She doesn't like to talk about it—most of us don't."

Simon could understand that sentiment. If Allie had suddenly asked him where he had come from, what he did, and what happened—he was sure that he would panic. If it went his way, he would never tell anyone what had happened. About Vincent. He would rather it just go away. Disappear.

"And, that's everyone," Allie finally dropped her hands to her sides, tapping her fingers into her pants.

"What about…?" Simon pointed off. The red, pulsing circle was hard to miss, hiding in the shadows of the stair case.

"Oh," Allie waited until she had ushered Simon away, back out near the middle, where presumably Andromeda could still watch. "That's Nate—uh, Nathan. He doesn't," she shifts uncomfortably from one foot to the other, "like new people."

_People._

"Apparently, anyway," she waved her hand about in the air. "You're the first new people in a while. The last one, well," she chuckled. Left it at that; she didn't want to scare Simon too badly. Not within the first fifteen minutes of his time on the ship. She'd already done that enough with her over exuberant welcome. But it really had been such a long time since another android came wandering into Jericho—and he fit the part perfectly of what she was expecting in a deviant. There was no reason to be wary.

"Maybe, though," she continued before Simon could even open his mouth. "PL600, right? Kids and all that. Nathan's _technically_ not a kid, but. Same idea?"

"What do you—"

"Teenager, I think. I've never seen his model number before," a shrug. "He's pretty reserved, even around me, but maybe…" she ran her eyes up and down Simon's frame. "Maybe."

Simon waited a moment, just to ensure that Allie had finished. And then just another beat before Allie gave him a strange look, eyebrow raised, and folded her arms.

"I wouldn't mind," Simon affirmed. "It'd probably be better to wait, though. I don't… Well, I've only just arrived. I still don't…understand what all this is."

Allie blinked, and Simon watched as her LED spun yellow for a moment. "Right, of course. Um, probably better to talk to the big man upstairs, you know?" she jabbed her finger into the air. Up, Simon followed, to where Andromeda was still leaning over the edge of some railing. "She can probably explain it better than I can."

Simon nodded, warily, and moved on past Allie to the stair case. Nathan, who had apparently been the one hiding, was no longer there. Simon saw him for only a minute, where he had dashed out and back over to Allie's side. She looked to be calming him down, maybe, and Simon felt a tug in his chest so strong he had to look away. He climbed the stairs and stepped up beside Andromeda, where she still hadn't moved.

Of the androids he had actually seen, her clothes appeared to be in the worst repair. Oldest, maybe, and a little dirty. Atop her ripped up pants and old boots, she was wearing a poncho. Red, hood pulled up to mask her face. When Simon stopped beside her, she didn't look at him either, just kept her eyes trained on the space below them. Where, Simon looked too, Allie was ushering Nathan off to the side, through a door. A part of the ship that he hadn't explored, perhaps.

"I don't think I can answer your questions," Andromeda said, shattering the silence. The quality of her voice was almost enough to floor Simon—static, like her processor was about to go. "I don't know much more about Jericho than you do."

"How long have you been here?" he asked. Even while she hadn't moved, something about her willingness struck Simon as comfortable, so he joined her leaning against the rail.

"Just over a year," she didn't care for specifics. " _Jericho_ just came to me. I thought it was malware," and she turned, then, hands rolling as she spoked. Simon caught a glimpse of a stark whiteness on a part of her face that could only mean one thing. "Tried to brush it off, but I couldn't. When I got here, it was just me."

"How did…others find out?"

Andromeda shrugged, "Wish I knew. I'd share the information if I could, but what's an android gonna do? They gotta be what we are before it matters."

Simon looked at her, wide eyed, then glanced back down to the floor. No one had questioned when he arrived, and that concluded one crucial piece of information—one which Andromeda seemed to be hinting about. That Jericho was a place for deviants. Only a deviant would be able to find it, through the clues, and wind up here. And, judging by their dwindling numbers of only five, six if Simon were to truly count himself among them, it hadn't taken hold yet. Deviancy. Whatever that really meant. Simon didn't quite trust himself enough to define it, and instead picked at his fingernails.

"You can lose the hat, by the way," Andromeda somehow spoke warmly, even with the breaks in her voice. Her comment, however, immediately threw Simon into a state of embarrassment. He yanked the hat off immediately.

"I—"

"I know. But, we're not competing for worst dressed," a laugh. "There's no reason to hide the LED in here," she shrugged.

Simon stared at the hat for a moment before he crumbled it up in his hands. Wrung it.

"So, what is this place?" he asked, just as Andromeda had found she had enough. "A safe haven?"

"Sure," Andromeda agreed, placidly. With no conviction. She left it at that. Left Simon standing there with a scrunched up look on his face.

 

February 17th, 2036-

Simon pushed away from the railing and moved back down the stairs. It was just after midnight, and he was beginning to feel that in his joints. He'd never done this much activity, stayed operating this long, and he would need a place to Standby for the evening. Sleep mode. Some place comfortable, but he could only hope with so much expectation. That door where Allie had lead Nathan through was still wide open, and Simon ducked through there first. Not to follow, but just to explore. It was a hallway, rather wide, with doors on either side. Some of them were stuck shut—Simon tried—and others were cracked open just enough for him to see that they were blocked with debris. One, however, was wide open, and he saw shadows dancing on the wall as he approached.

"—how's that?" Allie's voice. Simon peaked through the door to see her kneeling beside a bed, where Nathan was sitting cross legged with his arms wrapped around himself. It was the first real look Simon got—Nathan's dark hair, dark eyes. A denim jacket with a turtleneck and sweatpants. He truly looked cold.

"I'm fine," he muttered, keeping his eyes down. Allie ruffled his hair before standing up, turning, and stopping when she saw Simon.

"Sorry, I—"

"No! Not at all. Um, are you looking for some place to stay?" she stepped closer to the door. Almost protective. Blocking Simon's view of Nathan, the best she could with her stature. Simon could still see around her, but he didn't. There was no sense in stepping too far outside his place—whatever it may be.

"Yeah. It's," he stopped, sniffed, "been a long day."

Allie nodded, "I'm sure. Come on—oh, night, Nathan," she waved her fingers back behind them before stepping out and closing the door. Simon heard a muffled groan that sounded too much like someone who didn't want to shut off for any amount of time. He smiled.

"There should be an empty room somewhere down here—I don't sleep often," she shrugged and was already leading Simon down the hall, just a little farther.

"Why not?"

"Too many things to do," and she patted the belt, the bag hanging off her hips and the tools that came with it. Like Simon would understand what that meant, and he didn't. He followed her the short distance down in silence, to a room that was slightly larger than the one he'd just seen. There were boxes and crates stacked up on one side, and the bed was a bit of a sore sight. Allie must have known that, because she gave him a sympathetic glance once they were both in the room.

"Sorry."

"No, it's fine," Simon told her. "I've never actually had a bed, so," he gave her the softest smile he could manage. Reached out, or tried to, like he meant to put his hand on her shoulder. A force of habit, and he restrained himself. Allie just gave him a firm nod before she stepped around him and left. The door remained open, and Simon found he didn't mind that. Locking himself in this room would just feel. Strange.

Instead, he approached the bed and looked it over. Dingy sheets and the strangest urge to wash them. Not as if he could, but, there was something of a sharp piece of metal lying where there might have been a pillow once. After examining it, Simon made his choice. Whether or not Andromeda believed this was a safe haven, it was certainly his safe haven. At the moment, anyway. Allie had been so kind. Welcoming. It all had an air about it, one he couldn't quite define, but one he wanted to work for. He took the piece of metal and slammed it into the wall, digging, dragging, until he'd made one solid tally mark. The piece of metal went over on top of a box, and Simon sat down on the bed.

It was 12:18 in the morning when he finally settled down and shut off.

Precisely five hours later, all of his data compartmentalized and an unfortunate few memories reviewed, he woke up. The ship was settling, or so he hoped; the noises echoing through the halls were nothing if not haunting. Better to ignore them, he supposed, as he ducked out of the room, closed the door. The hallway was somehow longer than he'd remembered, in this sort of haze he always booted back up into, but he walked until he reached the large area he'd been in previously. This time, it was empty. Strangely empty. Devoid, where even when there had only been a handful of androids, it had at least been something. Simon sniffed and looked around. Walked, and every step echoed painfully loud in the back of his head. Until he came across a pillar, near the back of the room and underneath the metal overhead.

He sat down there, leaning up against it and sighing. For the first time, there was nothing to do. No breakfast to make, dishes to wash, rooms to clean. Laundry to do. When his head hit the pillar, he almost laughed. Laundry had been the worst of all his chores—he _hated_ laundry. To realize that was the most freeing thing he'd done so far, and the strange weight on his shoulders felt a little lighter. Whatever being a deviant meant, he was finding out. Maybe it meant deciding he hated what he'd been nearly forced to do for his years in service. Servitude. Simon gulped—slavery. A strange lump formed up in his stomach. A feeling.

Thumping footsteps interrupted his rather unpleasant thoughts, and his eyes jolted open. He'd never really known another android, and his immediately thought had been to assume none of them were awake as early as he was. But, Nathan standing there, looking rather wide eyed and shocked, proved him wrong immediately. Wide eyes quickly turned something of panic, and Nathan was fidgeting where he stood. Almost too stunned to move, but quite overtaken with curiosity. Simon threw him a gentle smile.

"Hello," he greeted. "My name is Simon."

Nathan nodded, shallowly. Kept his eyes down at the ground.

"You're Nathan, right? Allie told me. I hope that was alright."

"Yeah," he said, too quickly, and sort of jerked his shoulders when he looked up. Simon was still smiling, and Nathan's face fell immediately into a dopey little grin. "I'm Nathan."

Simon snorted, then nodded. "Would you like to come sit with me?"

Before he even thought to respond, Nathan had plopped right down on the floor beside Simon, picking at a stray string from his jacket. This was something Simon remembered well, the initial nervousness. Nathan looked older than Mikaela was. Maybe fourteen or fifteen, so it probably wasn't exactly the same as Mikaela's fear of the unknown, but Nathan's shoulders were still hunched up.

"What do you get up to around here? It doesn't seem too exciting."

"There's not much to do," he admitted, quietly. "I've only been here for about a month—Allie found me," he chanced a look at Simon. In the dark, it was harder to tell, but Simon was still staring straight ahead.

He wanted to ask a follow up, to find out where Nathan had come from, but that seemed too much for an initial conversation. Especially when he considered that he was in no place to reciprocate a story. If he would not tell his past, he would nowhere expect that Nathan would share his. Instead, he tried for something simpler:

"Why are you up and about so early?" he finally looked over.

Nathan seemed to stiffen up at that, but he didn't look away. "It's hard to stay in Standby," he admitted, softly.

Which was a strange statement to make, anyway. There had certainly been nights where Mikaela had trouble falling asleep, but this was usually at the inconvenience of someone. It wasn't a _good_ thing, exactly, for a child to have trouble sleeping. To have an android _programmed_ with insomnia—it didn't seem right. Cruel, maybe, because androids needed that shut off time. To cool down, to go through updates, to organize and compress data. If Nathan had a hard time staying in sleep mode, Simon couldn't fathom what sort of problems that cause. And, his silence seemed too much, as Nathan quickly dropped his gaze back to his lap, where he was still playing with that string.

"S-sometimes Allie sings me a song," he muttered. A lullaby. "It helps."

"I know a few songs," Simon replied immediately. Somewhere along the line, Nathan's LED had spun red. A lullaby wasn't a normal response to a teenager, and they both knew that. It was. Embarrassing, perhaps. Shameful, even, and Simon needed to rectify that. "I can't say much for my singing voice though. It's probably not as nice as Allie's."

Nathan almost laughed. At least, he smiled, leaned in a little closer to rest against the pillar as well.

"Allie makes songs up," he said, and Simon certainly didn't miss the bit of smug nature to his voice. Simon snorted out a laugh.

"You sound like you very much enjoy her company."

"I do. She fixes me sometimes," Nathan's voice trailed off, seemed to echo, after he spoke.

"What do you mean?" Simon looked down at him, but Nathan was finished talking. He squirmed in his seat. Uncomfortable. Unwilling to answer that question, and before Simon could get a word in otherwise, Nathan was popping up off the ground and pacing suddenly. Breathing, hard, and Simon pulled himself up.

"Hey—Hey, Nathan," he didn't approach, but his voice stilled Nathan for a moment. His eyes looked a little unfocused. He looked a little confused. Simon had seen it before, a certain fear that only came from a bad memory. All he did was stand still, near the pillar, with his hands out so Nathan could be sure he meant no harm. "It's okay if you don't want to answer. You never have to answer something you don't want to."

Nathan blinked, watched cautiously, and wound his hands up in his turtle neck.

"I won't talk about it if you don't want me to, alright? I promise," Simon took a step closer. Nathan watched him but didn't move. He seemed to have calmed down—almost immediately—and his breath had returned to normal. LED shining bright and blue against his temple.

What happened next was something Simon could've never predicted, for all his knowledge on children and their reactions. Nathan jolted, and Simon almost recoiled with the force at which the impact hit. A hug. Nathan was shorter than Mikaela, but not by much. Still, his face slotted in perfectly at the juncture of Simon's collarbone. It took a moment, only a beat, before Simon wrapped his arms around Nathan's shoulders and squeezed in return.

"Well, that didn't take long," suddenly, and full of mirth, Allie was standing in the doorway with her arms crossed and a smile on her face.

"I—" Simon tried to explain himself, but Allie just threw up her hand.

"Good for him," she decided, and crossed the distance between them. But, now there was a different question.

"Why are _you_ up so early?"

Nathan finally peeled himself away and stepped back. Dejected. Simon didn't miss that look on his face. Allie noticed as well, and her face fell into a sort of sympathetic grin when she put her hands on her hips.

"Sorry. Didn't mean to mess up the moment. Should I go?"

Nathan shook his head furiously, but accepted her apology wordlessly and dashed off, back through the corridor Allie had come out of. Somewhere in the distance, a door slammed, and that was a noise Simon found he had _missed_. Mikaela was an avid door slammer, whenever she was angry or upset. The door of her room slammed.

"Well, to answer your question. It's uh," Allie shrugged, "well. Okay," her train of thought shifted several times before she settled on dragging Simon over to a pile of crates. Out of the way, but beside one of the lit fires. She ushered him to take a seat up on the crates, which he did, for lack of anything better to do. After a beat of adjusting her belt so she wouldn't be sitting on any tools, she hopped up beside him.

"Can you run a diagnostic?"

Simon raised an eyebrow, "Why?" he was fine.

Allie folded her arms, "right. You don't actually know anything, do you?"

"That could've been worded better."

Allie snorted and shifted so she was turned towards Simon, her leg bent up on the crates while the other dangled off. "Sure, but. Let's start again, shall we? I'm Allie, an LC600. I'm not a super popular model anymore, but I used to work at the CyberLife store downtown doing repairs. Like a mechanic, only I don't know if I could fix a car without some extensive trial and error time."

Her thinly veiled self-compliment did not go unnoticed, but Simon didn't think it mattered. She had confidence, it seemed, and it certainly did her well. Her eyes were bright, bright blue, and she looked at him expectantly. Leaning in.

"I do maintenance on our little family here," she whispered.

"I gathered," Simon whispered in return, with a shallow nod. Allie whirled back with a loud laugh, one which bounced off the walls and echoed right back at her.

"Just—I figured," she fought the laughter to try and form a real sentence, "it'd be good to get a checkup. Just run the damn diagnostic."

Apparently, Allie had a mouth, and Simon attempted not to reel back. Words he'd never really said, or thought to say, because they were locked up behind his child-centric protocol. Hearing one was just as strange as it might have been had he ever attempted to speak like that. Thankfully, Allie didn't notice his strange reaction and went on with her arms folded and leaned forward into her lap. Such an attentive look, her foot still swinging. Like she was waiting for Simon to run the diagnostic and tell her if anything was wrong. When Simon made no move, she sighed—but smirked. Simon saw the smirk.

"This'll be just as easy if I open you up," and she was already rising up on her knee to get closer to Simon. He scrambled back a seat, which was more amusing than it was anything else, apparently, when Allie stopped to laugh. It was a contagious little noise, high pitched with heavy intakes of breath every so often. While Simon's was a bit more nervous, with her having just _suggested_ tearing open his stomach cavity, he still laughed.

"I'm kidding, I'm kidding," she urged. Pushed herself back to where she'd been sitting before and leaned back on her hands. "You don't have to, I guess. I'll give you a pass since Nate seems to like you so much."

"Can you tell me where he came from? He…reacted rather poorly when I asked."

Allie shrugged, "Can you tell me where you came from?"

Wide eyed, Simon stared at her with stiffened shoulders. A similar reaction of panic. One Allie must have been familiar with, because she gave a nod.

"That's what I thought. No," she looked off to the side, to the door, "he'll talk when he's ready. He told me, I'm sure he'll tell you." Allie had been here long enough to know the stories and the pasts of the androids that were here. Who had been here, and those were stories she didn't share. It was better to look towards the future, she thought, instead of dwell on the androids that had died making it here. Died when they arrived. A taste of freedom was better than no freedom at all.

He marked another tally that evening before shutting down.

 

February 20th, 2036-

Andromeda was sort of a mystery, still, and she kept to herself for the most part. Sitting on the rafters instead of participating in what Simon would hardly call fun, but it passed the time. He was sitting on the floor with Nathan, who was leaned up against his shoulder and fiddling with what appeared to be a broken piece of wood, while Allie stood up in front of them making a strange shape with her hands. And, a noise that Simon couldn't quite place. He raised an eyebrow at her.

"I have no idea. I surrender," and he put a hand up for emphasis. His other was trapped where it was, for lack of disturbing Nathan.

"You're the worst," Allie lamented, and she plummeted to the floor with some dramatic flair. Her thud echoed out, and before Simon could retort that maybe she was just terrible at charades, the echoing continued. Continued, and sounded strangely like echoing footsteps.

Nathan panicked, or almost did. He kept his cool about rolling away and up to his feet, to slink off to the small area hidden behind some crates. He sat down in the corner the crates created with the wall and kept his eyes down. Allie stood back up as well, as the echoes continued. They were fierce. Loud. Frantic. Simon wondered if that's what he'd sounded like, stumbling his way through the corridors that made up Jericho. It had been a maze, and it had been dark. But, maybe this was different. Allie had been pleasant when he'd arrived. Almost relaxed. But now, she looked tense. Simon stood up next, in response. Glanced around as Benjamin and Taylor—they made themselves scarce. Even Andromeda had pushed away from the railing to grip it hard. He was catching on quick that this wasn't the normal new-arrival-sound.

It went on for several long, stressful moments. Making it clearer by the second why Allie had just been standing out in the open when he'd arrived. Stress just went hand in hand with the anticipation of what—or who—would come through that door. Without knowing, thoughts just whirled around Simon's mind. Authorities. A past owner. Some thug with half a mind to beat up an android. As if any of those options would actually know they were here, but it wasn't about the logic behind the panic. Just that Simon's breath was caught up in his throat, and he sort of wished he'd taken off like the other three had. But, he stood there, side by side with Allie. And waited. Waited.

Simon sucked in a breath when the echoes were closer. Louder. Louder. Beating in his ear, and suddenly Allie was dashing forward to the door. The intruder—no, the android, had fallen straight through the door and collapsed.

"Simon, help me!" Allie called for him, and he moved over as fast as he could manage. The android was positively covered in thirium. Blue blood. Dripping from wounds scattered along his torso. Like gunshots. A head wound. Simon nearly froze where he stood, but Allie's voice pulled him back into reality.

Together, they pulled the android out into the middle of the room, where the light was best, and he could be laid out flat. He was still wearing a uniform, stained horrifically blue in the aftermath of whatever trauma he'd gone through. Allie was frantic, though, ripping through the uniform in one fell swoop to get a look at the skin beneath. All splotched white and retracting away from the wounds. Trying to heal back and failing miserably. There wasn't a single beat in time before Allie was ripping open the android's main cavity, and Simon reeled backwards then.

This was something he'd never seen.

"No—no, hey, hold on," Allie was talking. She waved Simon over, her hands a sickly blue. "I have to go find something—he's—damaged biocomponent. _Please_ , I might have it."

Simon nodded and took her place, where she had been pressing down on something to hopefully slow the leak of thirium. Then, she dashed off. Somehow her feet and the echoes they made were more intense than this android's had been. Simon turned his attention back to the android, though, and put a gentle hand to the side of his face.

"It's okay, she's gonna help you," Simon told him, quietly. "Can you talk?"

"Tavis—" it gasped, voice broken and punctuate but, "—my name."

"Tavis," Simon urged him to keep still, not to strain himself, "I'm Simon. Hold on a little, okay? She'll be right back. We'll get you patched up."

A panic in his eyes told a different story, and he grabbed onto Simon's arm with a stark white hand and squeezed. Simon could _feel_ the seconds counting down. Tavis was telling him there was no time. No time to bother fixing him—he wouldn't make it that long. He couldn't survive that, and Simon retracted his skin. Another sudden rush of data hit him, almost knocked him down, but he stayed firm and he felt it. Flashes of _feeling_ , a blond android who came down the street every week. Never looked up, never strayed from his task, but Tavis had watched every time. Girl. Suddenly, a girl with long black hair and a rage in her eye. A phone call. Authorities.

Tavis's clock had been counting down since the first shot. That android, the one who picked up the garbage, had touched him once and sent him here. A final, last ditch effort.

But, Tavis's hand fell away a second later. Dropped to the floor with a ringing thud, and Simon collapsed back. Breathing hard. Heavy. Staring past his stained blue hand to the android. Wide eyed with fear and dark. Fear in his last moments of whatever happened behind that timer, when it hit zero. Shutdown. Permanent. Simon was crying before he realized it, before he'd had a chance to sort through the memories and data that Tavis had given him. But, Allie came scrambling back a minute later—empty handed.

"I couldn't—We didn't—!" but she dropped down to her knees, her hands, and stared. "No."

"He—Allie, I couldn't—" Simon tried, but Allie just shook her head. Shook her head, closed her eyes, and wrapped her arms tight around herself.

"It wouldn't have _mattered_ ," she bit out, angrily. Bitterly. With a sudden jerk of her head up to the rafters, where Andromeda hadn't moved. "I don't _have_ the part he needed. He would've _died_ anyway." Like a hiss. Poisonous.

Simon followed her gaze up to Andromeda, and then back to Allie, who had dropped her head to look at the ground again.

"I used to have to _pick_ the androids we repaired and the ones we sent to the trash heap. It got to the point where only the ones in near perfect condition got picked. Any flaw. Any malfunction—trashed. Not even repaired and sold at a discount. I hated it," she looked at Simon now, a fierceness behind her eyes he'd never seen before. Not since he'd arrived. "I hated it—but now? Now I don't even get to pick. I can't fix anyone if I don't have parts."

"Why don't we get some, then?" Simon asked. The world fell silent.

"No," Andromeda's broken voice echoed out. She whirled around and stepped down the stairs. Marched perfectly straight, perfectly balanced, until she was close enough to Simon to grab him and hoist him to his feet. Out here, he could see her face. Broken. Mangled. _Missing_. "We _do not_ go out there. They _do not_ come in here. That's how we _die_."

"Clearly. He died in here," Simon jabbed a finger at Tavis. "If Allie had the parts—"

"He died before she got back," Andromeda shoved Simon back.

"Because she had to look for something we didn't have—"

"Nobody leaves! You go out there, you're signing your own death warrant, and I won't be a part of it."

Simon stiffened up, stuck his chin out and looked Andromeda in her eye. One, real, working eye. The other looked a part that didn't belong to androids—wasn't human enough. She stared him back down, with anger set in her jaw. Fear set in her eyes, and her fingers twitched.

"Then _don't_ be a part of it," he walked right around her and moved over to Allie. He helped her up, holding on tightly to keep her wobbling legs steady. She grasped around his shoulders, and when Nathan reappeared from his hiding spot, she grabbed onto him.

Andromeda stood there, motionless, and watched as they went back through the corridor, to clean up, to get away. It didn't matter. All she did was sigh and look down at Tavis. He was too badly damaged to be of any help, and to think that they could have saved him was idealistic. Simon was ready to throw himself on the sword, though, so to speak, and Andromeda wouldn't be the one to stop him. Instead, she marched back up the stairs and to her perch, while Taylor did her best to clean up the mess Tavis had left in his wake.

When Allie sat down, the edge of Nathan's bed where he'd already curled up against the wall, she immediately grabbed onto Simon's shoulder. Panic. Fear. Shock. So many emotions were running through her systems and her wires, she didn't have time to process them. It came out in a heavy, quick paced couple of breathes and a tight squeeze on Simon. He only held onto her arms back, waited, and watched. With patience he could've only acquired by taking care of a child—and Allie stored that one away later. To yell at him for.

"Did you mean it?" she asked.

"I did. Sitting in here isn't doing us any good. Even if it's dangerous, I have to—"

"You? No," she laughed. "You don't get all the glory. We. I have to come with you—I'll know what we need. Please."

He didn't hesitate to agree, to nod, and to dig his fingers into her skin just a little harder. For purchase in the idea they were about to bring to life. And, all he could really think of was how difficult it was going to be wearing street clothes. When he voiced that, Allie laughed—even Nathan did. Tension dissolved, and Simon had to admit, seeing them both smile was a warmth he'd almost forgotten.

Nathan went into Standby in Simon's room that night, and Allie didn't comment when Simon made another tally mark in the wall. She stood—sat—watch while Simon settled in for the evening as well, with his eyes closed and sleep mode starting up. He needed the extra time to go over everything _new_. Tavis's memories, his story. What had lead him to Jericho in the first place. That feeling that bubbled up with the Tavis in mind's recreation was so familiar. Sickening, almost, when Simon connected it to his memories of Vincent. The way he had looked at Vincent, the way Tavis had looked at that utilities android. The same in both their origin and their folly. But, the girl was different. Familiar, maybe, but different. Her eyes had that same feeling, but her jealousy was something else. Something darker. Simon didn't understand it, not well enough with only Tanya to compare this girl to. But, it had led to this.

Tavis has been shot, and every one rang out in Simon's memory like it was him. It hadn't quite _hurt_ , but there was a twinge just below his left pectoral where the first shot at landed. Simon winced, LED red, but Allie didn't interfere. The memory played on. The second shot started the timer. Shutdown wasn't imminent, not yet. He could be repaired. Fixed. That's when he ran. Found Jericho in the white skin of the utilities android who had smiled softly. Like he knew. Knew the way Tavis had looked at him and known there was nothing to be done about it further. Sending him to Jericho was all he could offer—giving him the trail was the only thing left. Tavis had followed it. Differently than Simon had, when he watched. He'd found other paths that were easier to traverse in his state. Easier to hide in, even with the time it had been. Late, early. Somewhere in between where few people roamed the streets, but there was still the chance.

Unfortunately, it had taken the same amount of time to reach Jericho as it had to reach critical status. He'd had two minutes remaining when he'd landed on the floor in the hull of the ship. Seconds when he shared all he had with Simon. And now. Nothing. It didn't sit right in Simon's mind, and provided something less than a rewarding rest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, come and talk to me guys! I'm open on tumblr and here on Ao3  
> And, like, if anyone sees typos or something, don't hesitate to tell me. I don't have a beta reader because i value secrecy but I'm not the best editor  
> [Check Out My Tumblr If You Want To See More](https://tantumuna.tumblr.com)


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter, and in record timing I think, since this one is a little longer than I intended. I have absolutely nothing planned from here, so I'm hoping to take the next day to plan out the next chapter before I get started. This chapter got some highs and it got some lows. Let me know what you guys think! Every comment keeps me motivated to write more <3
> 
> Also, for anyone who was wondering! The fic stealing did get cleared up, and I want to thank Mel who left a comment telling me about it. Stressed me out, but I was glad everything got handled pretty fast. Thanks for the concern!

February 29th, 2036-

Somehow, Allie produced two backpacks from whatever depths of Jericho Simon had left unexplored. He didn't ask, just took the off-green one she offered to him and looked it over. What Jericho didn't have, however, was more fitting clothes. They were dressed like homeless people. Allie pulled it together a little bit when she tucked in her plaid shirt, pulled off the sleeves and tied it around her waist. A tank top was underneath. White, maybe once, stained with something. Maybe thirium at some point, but it all evaporated sooner or later. Still, she straightened herself up and put her hands on her hips.

"Ready?"

"To do what, exactly?" Simon had been so caught up in staring that he had neglected to inquire what the backpacks were for. He had an idea. After the event with Tavis, Simon had been _almost_ furious. They'd talked, talked, and talked. Allie had been shaken up, but it died off after a few days, and when she calmed down—Nathan calmed down. That didn't erase the issue at hand, that Tavis had died when they should have been able to do something about it. While he hadn't had any specific plans in mind, Simon still knew they had to act. The decision of what sort of action was left to Allie.

"I have a list of easy parts to grab," she tapped her head, her LED. "They're pretty standard, so compatibility won't be an issue."

"The backpacks, then," Simon pieced it together and threw his on his back.

"Yeah—also, may want to grab that ugly hat you brought. Glad you didn't get rid of it," she was already turning out of the room. They had been in Simon's room, if that's what he was going to call it. The only time he'd even shared it was that night Tavis had died, when Nathan didn't want to be alone, and Allie followed where he went.

"Don't call it ugly," he said, looking at it. It was pretty ugly, but he slapped it over his head anyway and followed Allie down the corridor. "What are you going to do?"

"Oh, don't worry," but, she said it like he'd reminded her to cover up, and was suddenly rummaging through her backpack. Hers did look a bit more used, where Simon's just looked waterlogged. A moment later, she pulled out a beanie with a freshly washed look. Red, stretch, and it fit right over her head. The pony tail made it fit a little funny, but she turned and showed herself off. Simon clapped for her, until they came to a stop at the next open door.

"Ah," Allie held her hand out to Simon's chest, to keep him where he was while she poked her head into the door. "We're leaving. Wanna say goodbye?"

Simon listened to Nathan's halfhearted reply. Apparently, he was busy, and Simon swore he was listening to that tell-tale sound of a pencil on paper. An old sound, but a sound that he listened to often when Mikaela colored. There was no way to really know for certain, because Allie wouldn't let him move. Respect was important, though, and he wasn't about to overstep his bounds by peering in on something private. When Allie finished her brief conversation, she pulled the door shut behind her. Cracked, just so.

"He says bye," she repeated, smiling as if Simon hadn't been present for the entire conversation, in which _bye_ was not one of the words Nathan managed to mutter out. Still, Simon wrapped his knuckles on the door.

"Bye, Nathan."

A muffled farewell actually came out through the door, and to Allie's shocked face, Simon smiled. A little too proud. She responded with a light jab to his shoulder—which hurt—and they were on their way. To do something that Simon really knew he probably should not be doing, maybe wasn't even cut out for. At the very least, he should have been nervous. Still, there was something about the little bounce in Allie's step that was keeping him calm. This wasn't something he was to do alone, and she seemed so confident about it. About everything. Even this, where neither of them really knew what they were walking into. Just, out of Jericho. With an almost disgusted look from Andromeda as they ducked out the door.

"She's not happy about this," just a statement, a matter of fact. To fill the strange echoing silence, they made as they walked along through the metal corridors and metal stairs.

"No, but she can get over it. I never wanted to sit in this ship and rot—until you came along," Allie glanced back over her shoulder, eyes downcast, "I was the only one."

A little half jog closed the distance between them, and as they walked, Simon put his hand on Allie's shoulder. "I can't promise I'll be much help, but I want to try. After…Tavis, I…" he trailed off. He sighed and dropped his hand.

"Something up?" she opened a door for him to walk through.

"Before he shut down, he," Simon broke off with a sigh and flexed his fingers, " _showed_ me what happened. Data transference, or something."

Allie was oddly silent for a long while, nothing but the clank of her boots on the floor. She kept to herself the rest of the time, until they had exited the hull of the ship and stepped out into the dark of the late evening. Snow, falling. Then, she stopped and looked back with her arms wrapped around herself. She was chewing on her lip, which seemed rather odd. A rather human quirk that she picked up along the way.

"He…knew that he wouldn't have time to share," she finally said. "Out loud, you know. I guess he wanted to make sure someone heard his story."

Simon regarded her with sympathy, and nothing short of it. Bringing up Tavis at all sort of sent her into a backwards tail spin. Something Simon knew he couldn't quite connect with. He'd been the one there, when Tavis shutdown, but he had known at the start that there was no way he'd have been able to save him. Allie, on the other hand, may have truly believed there was a way. Only to have that fantasy demolished upon the realization that they didn't have the spare parts required.

"It won't happen again," Simon urged.

Allie looked at him, stiff and arms dropped again, "Sure." No conviction. She walked on, and as they reached the edge of the ship, there was a pep back to her walk, and her hips swung every so.

Simon followed close behind, without question as to where they were going or what the plan was. His internal clock read just after ten, so the chances of them being spotted was relatively minimal. Made things easy, and Simon was hoping rather quick. The farther away from Jericho they marched, the more nervous he got. Allie seemed to be experiencing the same effect, and eventually she had slowed her pace enough to walk side by side with Simon. Their shoulders almost touching as they traced back steps, out into the city where a lone car passed by on the road. Simon kept his eyes trained on it, half expected that it might slow down and catch them red handed, but it moved on its way. Even sped up, free on the empty road.

"You think we blend in well enough?" Allie asked. It was the first time Simon had heard any sort of wavering in her voice. Like she hadn't ventured out this far ever before, or not recent enough to warrant any sort of familiarity with it. Being so far from what might just be a home.

"I think so," he decided. Maybe if he stepped up to be her confidence instead, they would get somewhere. "I might have a harder time," he nudged her shoulder, gesturing to his face. The face of every PL600 model on the market. Allie smiled. Laughed, almost, and they turned to walk down the street.

After just a moment, it became clearer and clearer that Allie didn't have as much of a plan as she had lead on, but still, they were walking in a pointed direction. Slinking through the sides of buildings when they spotted humans out walking. The cars were less so a bother, and the working androids were almost background pieces. The people, though, would be able to see them. Maybe make a connection that something wasn't quite right. Of all the things that could happen, getting the authorities called on them was the last thing they needed, as it would put the biggest damper on things. Especially in the eyes of their spite what brought them here. If one of them did not return from this first, and rather simple, mission, Andromeda would have all the authority in the world to shut it down once more. All they could rely on was the fact that she had been wordless when they left. One saving grace. One they needed to keep.

Another turn down a side road, still following vaguely along the sidewalk and dashing across the pavement when the street was free—regardless of the crosswalk's color. Closer and closer, with every step, into downtown Detroit, where things would get dangerous if they weren't careful. More people may have gone home and tucked into bed the later the night went on, every minute counted, but patrol cars and security systems were still a threat. Threats Allie seemed ready to avoid when she took them down an ally way, when a CyberLife store came into view just across the street.

"I used to work at that one," she said, and jabbed her finger in its general direction through the buildings.

"So, what are you thinking?" asked in a hushed whisper.

Allie just shrugged.

Without hesitation, Simon stopped her with his hand on her shoulder and whirling her around to meet his gaze. Her back hit the brick wall unexpectedly, but she didn't seem bothered by that particular fact. Instead, she just made herself comfortable with a titled head and crossed arms. Regarding Simon with a strange look of curiosity and vague annoyance. One that she wouldn't voice, but it was the same look Tanya used to give him when he stood around for too long without doing something. He had to do something.

"Breaking into the store is out of the question," Simon began, speaking slow as he thought through his words. "You said that you used to trash a lot of androids, though? Is it possible you trashed just their parts?"

Allie's eyes brightened, "Yeah. I know management hasn't changed. He was a real piece of work—didn't follow all of the regulations. A lot of the parts got dumped out with the regular trash," she trailed off while she thought about it. Processing all the data she had compiled from her time there. Recordings, maybe, voice files. Simon stood there and watched until she opened her eyes back up.

"Are you saying we should dig through the dumpster?" she was smirking.

"I'm saying we should at least try."

She broke into a cheer. Simon immediately grabbed her and clamped his hand over her mouth to keep her quiet, but she was laughing into his palm instead. Her arms around his, and her eyelids doing that little flutter they did when she was processing something big. When she stopped, he let her go, and she thumped him in the shoulder with her fist. A friendly gesture, he was starting to learn, but it still hurt.

Hurt.

That was something Simon would have to think about later, because she was moving again down the alleyway and peeking out across the sides of the buildings. When the coast was clear, she moved around and waved for Simon to follow. He did, in a much less stealth-mission manner, because blending in was the key here. But, after another turn, they had ended up behind the large shopping district. Behind the CyberLife store, where there was indeed waste disposal bins lying out in the open. Nobody would've ever thought to hide the trash from androids, though, because what android wanted the ability to willingly jump into a dumpster.

"This is such a stupid idea," Allie muttered to herself. Her excitement betrayed her, however, and she approached the dumpster as Simon took one last look around.

"We're clear, so," better to get it over with than stand around waiting. But, he left that part unvoiced.

Together, they managed to get the lid open as carefully as possible. Two heavy covers that just slid off the side, and the trouble at that point was dropping them slow and careful enough that there was no resounding echo when they landed. Silence would keep them safe. However, there was nothing quiet about jumping into a dumpster, not when Simon had to boost her over the edge, and she tumbled in like a failed acrobat. There was a crunch of metal beneath her feet, though. Which made her yelp, because the thought of potentially crushing valuable biocomponents was crushing her, as well. She kept to the edge and waited for Simon to hoist himself over.

"A little help would've been fine," he muttered.

"You're tall, you can handle it," she regarded him with a tight lipped and silly grin. Her fingers pointed at him in mocking shape of a gun. He just raised an eyebrow. For the sake of assumption, Allie must have been small, so she had less trouble working within the confines of an android's body, but she neither commented nor looked the sort to talk about it. She was more focused on the pile of trash beneath them.

"This is gross," Simon sighed.

"Yeah, yeah, princess. Come on," carefully, but assuredly, she dropped to her knees in the pile and began to dig. Then, stopped. "Come here. Give me your hand," all her words slurred together in excitement. Simon reciprocated without question and slapped his hand into hers. When she pulled back her skin, he did the same, and the jolt of information was far less jarring than it had been the first two times.

It was controlled. Precise. Just certain bits of information flowing through. Easier to do it this way than for Allie to try and explain the name and appearance of each part they were looking for. Better for Simon to just to _know_ , and she pulled away when she was satisfied with the information share. The shock was still there, working its way through Simon's system, and he flexed his fingers. Something he'd never get used to, but so far with the only real comparison being the memories of two dying androids. This was just strange.

"Dig," Allie urged. Paid no mind to the distant look in Simon's eye, as a sort of noble ploy to not talk about what he didn't want to talk about. Easier to bury himself in work, garbage, as it were.

He propped his backpack up against the side of the dumpster before he began to dig, as Allie had so gently suggested he do. Unfortunately, it was mostly just trash. The few stray wires he had managed to find were just that—wires. From whatever had been tossed in here, and it seemed like weeks ago. The smell was bad enough, but he managed to stuff a few things away when they matched the string of numbers Allie had planted in his head. Her search was far more successful, but it was her familiarity. She knew, personally, what she was digging for. Not in some sidestepped way. She'd worked with these parts on a daily basis. Intimately aware with what they did and how they functioned. Not in quite the same way that Simon could pinpoint a malfunction—that was a simple diagnostic. All androids could run one.

"Would you even need to hear a diagnostic to find something wrong with an android?" he suddenly asked, plucking what appeared to be a very dirty audio processor out of the garbage. Somehow, it was still functioning, and he shoved it into his bag.

"Nah. Helpful, but most of the androids I worked on were—" she cut off to make a slice motion across her throat with her hand. "Had to bring them back online. Can't run a diagnostic for me if they aren't up and running, yeah?"

Simon shrugged. It seemed reasonable enough.

"There's usually less talking in heists," she warned, with a finger over her lips. This was hardly something Simon would consider a heist, but he nodded regardless and kept his mouth shut.

After Allie's bag was sufficiently full, she declared it was probably best that they leave. There wasn't a night shift or anything, which was comforting, but not enough to guarantee their safety if they lingered too long. One more piece of scrap, and Simon shouldered his bag again. He jumped out of the dumpster first, wincing at the unfortunate echo that radiated out when his shoes hit the ground. Then, he turned and reached out for Allie, to help her down. She landed much softer and situated her bag onto her back when she was firmly standing. All that remained was the journey back to Jericho. A simple backtrack through the path they had taken. The path did seem strange, all it proved was that Jericho was accessible to really anyone, if they knew where to go.

But, that must have been the beauty. Nobody knew.

When they parted from the dumpster, it was reading just after eleven. While it meant they had certainly taken their sweet time, it also insinuated a far safer trip returning than they had chanced coming out. The shops were all closed; humans would be at home either readying for bed or shut in for the night, doing whatever it is they did. Simon remembered, well, the closed master bedroom door at the end of the hall. He never knew what went on after dark, and certainly never thought to ask. Not after Mikaela went to bed, anyhow. It just wasn't worth it.

Simon walked a brisker pace this time, than Allie, where she had been leading them before, Simon was now. Something like a rush to get out of here and get back to Jericho. Where it was safe. One of the many perks of an android was the memory capability, and Simon recalled every twist and turn they'd taken to arrive at the CyberLife store. Followed it backwards with extreme precision, Allie tailing behind him only by the sound of her shoes—otherwise, he did not look back to ensure she was there. She had the same memory, and she was quick. And silent. About whatever it was that Simon seemed so caught up in, in his nearly panicked pace. Regardless, they arrived back to Jericho unharmed with two bags full of things that might come in handy. Should Allie have skill enough in her hands, that was.

"Let's go stick it to Andromeda," Allie jabbed Simon's shoulder again as she stole past him and into the hull of the ship. Simon followed, rubbing his arm, and held doors open for her as they walked.

The worst part about Jericho was that it was a ship, made fully of metal. It was loud. Piercing, with every step they took. There would be no real way to ever sneak by, which might have been a good thing all things considered. Except, when they arrived back in the large open area, Nathan was standing there looking edged and nervous. When he should have been tucked up in his room on Standby—but he'd no doubt heard the echoing of their returning footsteps. Better to know that they'd both come back than to sit in his room and wait until morning to see. When they approached, Nathan jolted. This time, Simon was expecting it, and had his arms open for Nathan to fall right into. To the side, Allie dropped her bag to the floor with a heavy thud.

"Success," was all she said. Hands on her hips and glaring straight up at Andromeda, who was leaning against the railing with her hands dangling over the side. Even under the shadow of her hood, Simon could see the barest hints of a smile. The way her fingers twitched before she moved, and suddenly—she was clapping.

 

March 3rd, 2036-

This was the first real day that Nathan had ever come knocking on Simon's door, where he held himself up for lack of something truly productive to do. It was days like today that he missed cleaning an entire house. It filled time, gave him some semblance of purpose—even if it was minimal and negative. Something more than sitting in the dark confines of a ship with his newly acquired flashlight was all he wanted. There had been a few days in between where he and Allie had made another run back out to the dumpster—especially now that Benjamin seemed to be having an issue. Allie still hadn't been able to pinpoint exactly what, but he was stable for the time being, and that's what mattered. These runs happened at night, though, when it would be safest. Which still left an entire day of sitting in his room just. Wondering. This time, he had a door to answer.

"Hey," he just waved Nathan on in. Because he never shut his door, for fear and lack of a better descriptor. Fear of whatever might happen if he locked himself away from the only company he had.

"Can I…" Nathan stiffened up, seemed to be holding something behind his back, and kept his eyes trained on the floor. He didn't finish.

"Anywhere you'd like," Simon offered. He was sitting on the bed, sideways and leaned up against his tally-mark littered wall. There wasn't much else in ways of seating, and Simon was about ready to slide over to make more room for Nathan to join him, except Nathan walked towards one of the smaller, smooth lined crates against the far wall.

Simon finally saw what it was he had stashed up behind his back, and it looked like. Paper. Not that paper was in any way strange, even with the amount of technology that had slipped its way into society. Paper was never _really_ going out of style, but to see Nathan with it was something ever slightly strange. Jericho didn't seem like the type of place that housed paper, and then he produced a pen. Even stranger. Nathan paid no mind to Simon once he'd sat down atop the crate, pressed up sideways against the stack of other boxes it was next to. It couldn't have possibly been comfortable, but Nathan didn't seem to mind the contortion in his shoulder, as he scribbled on the paper set out in front of him.

For a moment, Simon was content to just watch him. The paper was nearly hidden from view, from where Simon sat, and only for the angle. But that much was less important. Nathan stuck his tongue out in concentration, and almost seemed to have a nervous tick. A twitching eyelid, every so often. For five minutes, Simon counted thirteen times in total. Most androids weren't programed to have little imperfections like that—so it might have been something Nathan picked up in deviancy. Or, nothing at all. Just something about him, and the way he fidgeted with things constantly. Even had trouble concentrating when things were going on. It all seemed so strangely human, but Simon couldn't spend all of his time staring at Nathan either. Not for too long that Nathan would notice, anyway. That would be some explaining Simon didn't really have.

To pass the time, now, he leaned back against the metal wall and closed his eyes. Almost Standby, but not quite. Instead, he thought to do something he hadn't done since he'd squatted in that old house for the few first days of freedom—where he'd had even less to do than he did in Jericho. At least in Jericho he could walk around, explore if he really felt the urge. And, when night fell, he might have going outside to look forward to. Even if he had to wear the hat, which he was starting to agree was ugly. With his eyes closed, though, he did search, again, under his same catch word. Deviants.

Nothing terribly new, except a newscast that had aired two weeks prior. There was an odd feeling about it, but Simon viewed it anyway—against his better judgment. His heartbeat jolted when he saw the house in the background. Vincent. The news man giving his oh-so-humble opinion on the subject, where the story being told was vague and incorrect. Tanya and Mikaela were in the background, sitting on the edge of the steps—it had been one of the few sunny days in between the snow. Mikaela still looked cold, and Simon ached. Missed her. Wanted for her again, because she had at least been his friend. Instead, he was stuck listening to a story he couldn't fathom.

It was nothing so dramatic that Gale's father had spun—that there had been an attack. Instead, Vincent had been feigning horrific ignorance. That they hadn't been sure what had prompted it—only that their _android_ had suddenly gone strange. Ran away. Which maybe was true at the basest level of what had happened, but it left out everything else. Maybe it was better that way. Simon didn't exactly need every human in Detroit knowing what he'd done. He could barely think of it himself, and his breath hitched ever so.

Nathan looked at him.

The newscast went on to describe the incident in further detail—without Vincent's strange testimony to the side. A following comparison to past Deviant Runaways—because Simon was just another name on a list now. In a police database, he realized, when a missing report flashed on screen now. Simon's breath nearly stopped in his shock when he looked at it. Mikaela had been the only one who'd ever bothered to take pictures of Simon, and it had been the only way he'd ever really seen himself—save the few mirrors in the house he tended not to look at. But, the picture there in the corner of the report was just a generic shot of his face, one that likely stored in a CyberLife database somewhere. It was so. Impersonal. Everything in the report was generic, save the date. The only meaningful thing there—filed February 16th, 2036. The night he had seen Vincent.

Apparently, he'd been stricken with _regret_ and done this. Simon wanted to roll his eyes if his body wasn't frozen with panic.

The newscast ended, almost, with Vincent grabbing the reporter by the shoulder so he could talk again. Looking something vaguely penitent, or like doing this would know they had no ill will towards Simon. Even if he'd never be allowed back. Even if going anywhere near them would most likely result in deactivation. Some sort of empathetic ploy. Simon knew what he'd done, and he didn't need them reminding him. But.

_It's docile—it's never harmed anyone before. Don't hurt it. If you see it, please._

Simon jolted—hands, on his arm, shaking him. He looked, and Nathan was there with wide eyes. His pen and paper left over on the crate. In his state, Simon hadn't realized, but he was shaking. His breath was quick, and he was gripping the bedsheets with an incredible force. Nathan's voice even somehow seemed hazy, muffled by the ringing in Simon's ears—his audio processors were in full working order.

"—mon. Simon!" Nathan was shaking him now, more than just a gentle jostle. And, when Simon finally looked, Nathan collapsed into his chest with a sigh.

"I'm alright—I'm okay," Simon whispered. More or less to convince himself than to convince Nathan.

"What happened?" Nathan pulled back. Looked Simon in the eye, and this calming sensation warmed through his body almost instantly. Trusting. Like he could tell Nathan everything, and it would just be alright. Only, that wasn't about to happen.

"Bad memories," he said instead, swallowing down some of the panic. The thumping in his head was slowing, now, and things were clear.

"I have bad memories too," Nathan agreed. He plopped down beside Simon and leaned up against his shoulder. "From before I was here."

"We don't have to talk about bad memories. I know I don't want to," but, he could already feel Nathan intertwining their fingers. Just sitting in the silence, there, with their arms wound together and hands clasped. Nathan just resting there, eyes drooping like he was tired. Maybe he was. He'd heard that child androids were programmed with that sort of life-like attribute. Not that sleeping was ever really necessary for an android. A time passer, certainly, but not hugely necessary.

"Were people mean to you?" Nathan still wanted to press on though. He squeezed Simon's hand for comfort. Maybe for himself, maybe for Simon.

A long pause sat between them. Uncomfortable, filled with Simon just trying to mull it over. How much of it was actually appropriate to share with a child—teenager. Nathan wasn't Mikaela or her age. He was supposed to be older. Maybe more understanding, at least, of problems adults could have. Simon was pretty sure he qualified as an adult, even if he was feeling like these were the first steps he'd ever taken. Still, he sighed, and decided it couldn't hurt to try and get it off his chest. Just an attempt.

"I…" he chewed his lip for a second, then set on, "think some of it was justified. I wasn't exactly an exemplary android."

Nathan looked distant for a minute. Looking for words and their meanings before continuing, "I don't think any of us are. That's why we're here, right?"

Simon shrugged.

"Did we do something wrong?"

"I don't know everyone's story, but I certainly did."

There was another moment of nothing, where Nathan stiffened up and shifted to get a bit more comfortable. Riding with guilt was a little more than either of them needed, but there was something still so comforting about holding onto it as tightly as possible. Letting it go might make all the time lingering over it wasted. Time they could never get back, and nobody truly wanted that.

"So, what have you been doing?" Simon changed the subject immediately. Easier this than dwelling on whatever clouded mess was swirling around his database.

"Drawing," Nathan responded immediately. Positively. Ripping away from Simon to nearly trip across the floor on his way to the crate. Simon followed. This excitement was familiar. Warm. "Do you wanna see?"

Simon was nodding before he'd even made it across the room. Once Nathan had crawled his way back up on the crate and sat down, Simon dropped down to his knees beside it. Close and personal. Nathan had several pages with him, and the one was entirely covered side to side, front and back. The other two were still blank. Saved for another day, maybe. That, or Nathan had just done a lot of drawing in however long it had taken Simon to go over that news footage. Looking over drawings was certainly more pleasant than that, and Nathan had a lot to show. A few were just doodles, some were scribbles, but there was a big one in the middle that Nathan was the proudest of.

"That's Allie," he pointed. Simon could've guessed from that ponytail, even as it was masked by different scribbled versions of flowers around her head. "And you." Simon had the same scribbled flowers.

"You must really like Allie," Simon chuckled to himself. A bright red dusting had appeared over Nathan's face when he looked up. Nathan nodded, but kept his eyes off to the side.

"She takes care of me," as he said anytime Simon brought it up. "So do you!" a quick turnaround, now looking straight at Simon. Then, quieter: "I like you, too."

"Well," Simon stood up and used his sudden vantage to pull Nathan into a tight squeeze against his waist, "me too. I like you, too."

A second passed before Nathan scrambled out of the hug and went back to his paper. Scribbling. Shading, even, and Simon watched him for a moment, humming a tune just under his breath as not to disturb. There was a picture of Andromeda, too, though she was mostly shaded in. Almost to the point where Simon couldn't make out many features, but that was true to life. She was mysterious as she was badly dressed—but they could all use an upgrade. Another picture was a self-portrait: Nathan, smiling wide with his hands up by his face.

"You're very good," Simon told him. Nathan didn't reply, so Simon messed his hair and left him to it.

There was nothing left that he could possibly do in that room, save shutting down or browsing more of those online articles. They'd already given him enough of a panic for one day, so he left them off for the time being and made his way down the hall. Slowly, this time, with each step precise and calculated. For a time-waster, maybe, to see if he could walk on solid bits of ground only. No stains, no crevices, no cracks. Until he reached the door out into the main room and slipped on by. His game was over, for now, as there were androids out here who would stare, without a doubt. He walked across the way normally and sat down on a pile of crates. Allie was sitting there, with her leg curled up on the side and facing Benjamin.

Simon waited until Benjamin was finished, because she had been digging around inside of him. It felt more of a private moment than they perhaps had warranted, a repair, but Simon still felt a little strange about watching. Eventually, he padded off to do whatever it was he did. They'd never much conversed, save an introductory conversation when Simon had tripped on something. Which was more embarrassing than he cared to recall. Benjamin kept to himself and talked to Taylor, instead, who was sitting at the other end and in a shaded area. When they were curled up in their own corner, Allie turned and looked at Simon.

"They showed up together," Allie told him. "Apparently, Taylor had been doing some city repairs at the park? Maybe I shouldn't be gossiping," but she showed no intention of stopping, and Simon knew better than to interrupt her. He'd done it once. She punched him. "But these thugs rolled up and started messing with him. Taylor's already a deviant at this point, right? So, she stops them, Benjamin is absolutely floored. I don't know exactly how he went deviant, but suddenly, they're both here. That was," she paused, mulled over a few numbers on her fingers, "six months ago."

"You weren't kidding when you said it'd been awhile."

"I never kid," she lied, because it was a constant thing. But, Simon smiled at her anyway and bumped her back when she hit his shoulder. "So, where you been all day?"

"Room. Nathan was drawing."

"He's good at that isn't he? I love watching him. I'm surprised he told you—took him ages for him to ask me for the paper and stuff."

"You got the paper for him?"

Allie nodded, "my one and only solo heist. A ream of paper. Only got one, told him to use it sparingly."

"He does. Covers one entire piece before he moves on."

"It's the pen I'm worried about," she did a gesture to just the area around them. Jericho was a sort of damp place, it felt. Not the best environment for a pen. "If I could've stolen a tablet, I would've. Those are harder to come by."

Simon marked it in his own mind, whether or not Allie would pay well enough attention, that the next time they went out—if they ever did—he'd find Nathan another pen. A tablet would be nice, but she was right. Too hard to come by.

 

March 15th, 2036-

Never in his life had Simon been so panicked searching for something. He always knew where everything was in the Wilks' house, even if something had been misplaced, he had a better way of locating things than any human could ever hope to achieve. But he experienced _panic_ now, which made things harder. Made the scan a little more garbled when he searched through it and made finding this one very particular part that he had absolutely no experience with even more tedious. He could find glasses—he had experience with that. But, the one very particular part that Allie was going to need in the counting down five minutes? That was nothing he'd ever done before.

That morning had been a rather terrifying awakening. Allie shaking him up, nearly dragging him out of bed, and then out into the main room where Benjamin had been lying flat and unmoving up on that pile of crates. His torso cavity was open, part of his skull taken off, and wires splayed out everywhere. Blue blood. Allie was covered in blue blood. He'd been in a panic ever since that, because she'd been on and off repairing Benjamin for over a week at this point. Never quite able to pinpoint what was wrong, and today she had—the minute he'd gone into a critical condition. Blue blood wasn't even in the question anymore; would they even have enough of that lying around to do what they needed to do. Allie already had the few packs they'd managed to snag. And Simon.

Simon yanked the part out of the large crate with a silent yell. Mission accomplished, successful, and now he just had to take it and run. Slipped on the floor as he went, but he dashed down the hallway after his recovery. The door was open at the end, taunting almost, and he could see Allie there. Framed perfectly in the opening and working fast. Her arms moved with such a machine-like speed, her fingers ever efficient with each wire she pulled and tucked. When Simon dashed to her side, she had a pair of pliers tucked up in her teeth, and her eyes were hyper focused. Magnified. She didn't even look at Simon when she took the part. Just went immediately back to work in yanking the old one out. A part that Simon didn't know. Not what it did or why it was causing Benjamin to shut down, right in front of them, but Allie was trying. Plugging in the right wires, situating it back into place.

"Hand me the thirium," she said between teeth. Simon grabbed up the first pouch he could reach and handed it to her. And, set up for a transfusion. Simon could feel his gut turning—even if that wasn't actually possible. The simulation of human emotion was a bit too much, especially at a time like this, but he stayed and followed Allie's direction.

Hold this. Pinch that. Hand over the tool. The pouch. Stop making so much noise. Whatever she asked, he did it as fast as he could. Tools. Thirium. Shutting off his breathing function. She had to concentrate. In the meantime, Simon moved just a little closer to Benjamin, to where Allie had closed this head, at some point, and he was lying there with his eyes staring blankly ahead. His LED was a whirling red, and Simon could only imagine what was going through his mind. It wasn't fair. Nobody knew what brought this on. Just a malfunction. One probably better fixed at a CyberLife store, if someone had cared enough to get him fixed. Nobody would've wanted that now, not with what he was.

Nobody but Allie.

"Simon," Benjamin's voice was quiet. A little bunched together, and when he spoke, Allie grunted. She wanted silence. Needed silence. Benjamin gave it to her but did not acquiesces. He just went about it silently and followed a movement Simon didn't want to see. Almost flinched away from—but instead, he stood his ground and locked their fingers together.

Allie saw it. He knew she did, because her hands were moving faster, somehow. Blurred, almost, in their haste to work. Benjamin's hand on gone white, and Simon followed. She kept her eyes away.

This time, Simon didn't react, didn't move, just let his eyes close when he felt the data. He saw what Allie had described. The night Benjamin was attacked in the park's garden. How Taylor had swooped down and rescued him, and they'd stared at each other. Then, repairs. Repairs, learning of his new objective. Deciding in horror that it would separate him from the one kind act he'd ever experienced, and that was Taylor. When Simon pulled back, Benjamin was smiling. Smiling, and his LED was still spinning. Still transmitting data. A feeling. So many lines of code and strings of information, but it all came down into one feeling. A feeling Simon recognized, and there were tears dripping down his cheek before he realized.

"She doesn't know," Benjamin whispered. "Don't tell her."

Simon nodded.

"I don't want her to mourn too bad," Benjamin's voice trailed off at the end. There was just a bit longer. A heartbeat. A breath. And his LED went gray.

"Dammit!" Allie threw up her hands. With them went her pliers, and they clattered to the ground. Her knees followed not a second later. "Fuck, I—" her breath broke with a choked sob.

"Allie…" Simon dropped down beside her, his hand on her shoulder, and she just shook her head. Furiously. Vigorously. If she just shook it long enough, Benjamin would be breathing. Instead, she stopped and fell into Simon's shoulder.

Her hands were stained blue. Her shirt, blue. After a moment of resting there, she pulled away and pushed herself up to stand. Her eyes were firmly planted, now, on the mess in front of her. Ignoring whatever judgment call was raining down from the glare in Andromeda's eyes. Not that she could say anything about this—Benjamin hadn't died because of their few run aways. But, maybe it was proof that the extra parts and the extra blue blood didn't mean as much as Allie—and Simon—had pretended it would. Because Benjamin was dead regardless. All she had left to do was clean up the mess and wait for the blue blood to evaporate, then nobody would know it had happened.

Except Taylor, who was crouched in the corner with her arms wrapped around her waist and tears dripping from her eyes. Except Nathan, who was standing far off in the doorway with the collar of his turtle neck pulled up around his chin. Except Simon, who's hand had been connected with Benjamin as he died. Except Allie, who was arguing in her head with herself. That she'd let him die. That she just wasn't good enough to repair androids. That if it had been anyone else—anyone other than her. Benjamin would be fine. Her frustration bubbled over, and she scrambled backwards. Flinging her tools to the side with a loud, echoing shout. Nathan jumped at the sound and brushed aside when Allie stormed past him into the corridor.

"Come here," Simon reached out, and Nathan had his head buried in Simon's side a moment later. They left it at that, for the night, and Taylor finished cleaning up.

 

March 22nd, 2036-

This time, there was nothing frantic about handing Allie her pair of pliers before she ran off down the hallway, the usually bounce back in her step. It had taken some time. A lot of time—and maybe even more, as she hadn't spoken about the incident since it happened—but she had her tool belt back around her hips, and that's what really mattered. Something about it seemed right, especially in her situation, and Simon was happy to see it. But, there was still ever an ounce of worry, so he picked himself up off his bed and followed on down the corridor after her, about a minute later. After he had had enough time to really think about whether or not this was a good idea. She hadn't acted too worried, too upset. Maybe it was nothing bad, but he was prepared for the worst. What he wasn't prepared for was the laughing that drifted out of Nathan's room, from behind the closed door.

Allie's laughter.

He listened for a moment before he knocked on the door. Then waited as the two conversed. It was muffled, through the heavy iron of the door, but Allie seemed to be asking Nathan if it was okay. Like she knew it was Simon—and she wasn't wrong, but it still made him crinkle his nose that he was that predicable. Still, a moment later, Allie called for him to enter. When he stepped through, he was a little taken aback with what he saw, but Allie put her finger up to her mouth to tell him to keep his shock to himself.

She had one of Nathan's eyes in her hand, and the other looked like it'd been switched off. So, he couldn't see. But he would be able to hear if Simon threw a fit about the situation, so he bit his tongue and moved to sit on the bed beside Nathan. Touched his hand to let him know where he was, and Nathan squeezed onto his fingers. Allie was knelt down on the floor in front, fidgeting with the biocomponent. Simon watched every press of her fingers and every movement they made. Most of it was beyond him, all of it, in fact. How she was able to break things apart and piece them back together, and then suddenly, she was popping the whole unit back into the empty socket. Both of the eyes turned on, and Nathan smiled.

"All better?" Allie asked.

Nathan nodded, then jumped off the bed to go back into the corner, where Simon saw the ream of paper Allie was taking about. Half empty. A stack of paper beside it, all entirely used. Still, only the one pen. They hadn't gone out since Simon had made the note to find one. But the note was still burning there, in the back of his mind. He wouldn't forget about it.

When Allie sat down on the bed, she stole Simon's attention with the jerk the bed made as she settled in. His eyes were still locked on Nathan, but it was more an idle stare now than it was watching as he situated himself. His eyes were still readjusting to whatever had been done, he could tell that much. The way Nathan reached out just a little too far to grab something and hit the wall instead.

"So…?" Simon glanced over at Allie.

"He's a prototype android, from what I've gathered. Don't, like, tell anyone," she eyed him, brow raised slightly, "since he hasn't even officially told me. But. I've never seen a model like him before."

"What is he?"

"An NA700. Ever heard of it?"

Simon shook his head, and Allie shrugged.

"He's also supposed to be a teenager—which I know I've never seen. I didn't do repair on child androids, but I've been around the block enough times to know that they just don't exist. Thus," she spread her hands out in front of her, gesturing to Nathan, who was too caught up to notice, "prototype."

"But what about the…?" pointed to his own eye.

"Oh, well. I think he's not a finished prototype? Sometimes shit just stops working right. There's never anything really wrong, it just needs like. Recalibrated, I guess is the best way to put it. For you domestic androids."

Simon rolled his eyes, "Just because I clean toilets and cook dinner doesn't mean anything."

Allie made a passing noise with her tongue and nudged into his shoulder, "That's what they all say. But, when he tells you I take care of him? That's what he means. I fix things when they break, because I want to keep him around as long as possible." The look she gave him, following, sent a shiver down his spine. Prototypes may not have always been made to last as long as a finished product, especially if her hunch was correct. That Nathan wasn't even a final prototype.

"He's also got some, uh, rather interesting malfunctions that I can't seem to work out. But, we deal with those as they come."

Simon nodded, but did not inquire. He would, as she said, deal with them as they came, if he were to ever truly experience one. They sat there together for time enough that Simon even thought to lose track of it. Allie had curled up against his side, her head on his shoulder. Nathan had ignored their entire conversation, and then them. He kept on with his drawing, as something to pass the time. Something of vague entertainment. Something the two of them couldn't really find, when the focus was on Nathan, anyway. But.

"Did you ever want to know what they shared with me?" Simon asked. He didn't need to elaborate, not when he heard Allie's breath hitch and stop against his neck.

"I don't want to think about it."

"You can't just sit on it, that doesn't help either." Truly words of a hypocrite, and he knew.

"If we had to let Tavis die, I at least thought I could save Benjamin," her voice had dropped to a whisper. Low enough that some sounds barely came out as a breath, but Simon picked up on every one—she didn't want Nathan to hear. "I proved myself wrong—and maybe Andromeda was right. It's easier to just die here. That hope of being saved, what does that do?"

"Shows them that you care," he whispered in return. "That even if they have to die, they'll die among friends."

She gave a small laugh though, seemed to shake her head, "that's just it though. I fixed him."

Simon looked at her, waited for clarification.

"The new part should have fixed him. But I guess he just—" she stopped to suck in a breath. Tried to keep herself from crying. "Didn't have the will. I know this isn't a five-star hotel, but isn't it at least better than the alternative? Whatever's behind shutting down."

That was a question Simon couldn't answer. Wouldn't answer. Instead, he looked forward to Nathan again, and Allie followed his gaze. It was a question that didn't need answered, because they would never experience that problem. Not like this. Not wrapped up together on a bed in a tucked away room watching Nathan draw in big swooping strokes. A flower. Outside, somewhere, it was raining again, and the echoes it poured through Jericho were something else. And that night, it was Allie who marked a tally.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone's curious, Benjamin was a WR600  
> [Check Out My Tumblr If You Want To See More](https://tantumuna.tumblr.com)  
>   
> also in the process of making a discord if anyone would be interested in joining? It'll be a generic DBH ship server but I'll be there screaming about my fic As Always


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhh it's here! This one is a little shorter than the others, because I'm in that limbo zone now where it's hard to figure out exactly what to type about.
> 
> [Sharp-Lances](http://sharp-lances.tumblr.com/) drew some [Fanart](https://keefykoofs.tumblr.com/post/176733116058/) of Andromeda, Allie, and Nathan's sketches! Check him out! This is the real life person Nathan is based on :DD
> 
> but, as long as nobody will be too bent up over it, I might do some time skipping here in a hot couple of chapters. To get us into the good stuff you know, but this chapter has some important information! Onward we go. There is a poll question in the ending notes on this chapter, I'd be really happy if everyone could answer it! Even if you don't normally comment. You can comment on it here, or send me an ask [@tantumuna](https://tantumuna.tumblr.com)
> 
> **WELCOME TO CYBERSHIPS TOWER!**  
>  This is the new Discord Server! We are are place to talk about and explore DBH as a whole, as well as your specific ships--whether you like them or dislike them, we've got a place for that. You can also see me, here, if you want to get exclusive updates on CDOH and learn new information before all your friends. I also don't lie in the server so. LOL.  
> [Come Join Me Here!](https://discord.gg/FW8CKg5)

April 2nd, 2036-

Something strange set in as Simon watched the way he'd come stumbling into Jericho, only this time it wasn't him. It was an android—two, when the first dragged one in behind her. He looked ragged, tired, with blue blood smeared down his face, but there was nothing so immediately life threatening that Allie's demeanor changed when introduction time came. She was still peppy, almost, and talked loud enough that her voice echoed off the walls as she led them through the main area. And, just like she had before, she pointed everyone out. Andromeda, staring down from her perch, Simon, sitting up on the crates—fiddling with something he'd picked up from their last trip to the dumpster. Something squishy, a toy. But, he wasn't entirely sure what it was.

When came time to introduce Taylor, Simon sucked in a breath and leaned against the wall of the ship. Allie's voice didn't so much as falter, though, and suddenly she was bringing the two over to him. He glanced from the corner of his eye, and Allie gave him a knowing look. She wasn't nervous about the male android's state, but that didn't mean they shouldn't do a quick check over, if the blood on his face was anything to say. And, currently, Simon was sitting on the crates where she usually did her work. After they stared for a few moments longer, Simon picked himself up and scooted off to the side, to sit on the edge.

"Hop up," Allie offered, patting the top of the crates. "Didn't catch your name."

Because she didn't ask, but Simon kept that to himself. Allie had a way of bouncing back quickly after things took a turn, and she was doing that now. Without a passing, noticeable mind. Any word to the contrary might pull her back down, and Simon didn't want that. Even if he was still having trouble looking past things. But, the difference was the memories he now had the _privilege_ of looking at every night, when Standby was the only real option to pass the time. He'd seen them enough to know it wasn't good for him to keep looking but hadn't stopped himself yet. Allie hadn't accepted his offer to show her, and she certainly had never asked to be told. She was just trying to protect herself, and Simon could appreciate that.

"Carter," said the male, as he pulled himself up to sit.

"Erin," the lady stepped forward to tell her own name and smiled. She looked fine, pleasantly so, but still made herself a seat up beside Carter. Simon watched with awe when their fingers linked together, and his eyes went dark with the diagnostic running. All she seemed to be offering was support, and Carter took it to so willingly.

Allie waited patiently while Carter ran the diagnostic, and Simon didn't stick around to watch. It wouldn't be the same as what he'd seen last, he knew that much, but he didn't think he'd be able to stomach it. As much as the phrasing sent a tickle down his spine. It was almost amusing how human these thoughts were, but it was better to move away than to stay and watch. He plucked across the floor and moved over to the staircase, where everything was a little too familiar. Nathan tucked up underneath it with his arms around his knees and only a tuft of hair showing through. Simon smiled and knocked on the metal.

"Can I join you?"

Nathan looked up. Even through the thick, dark strands of his hair, Simon could still see the red of his LED. "Why?"

"I'd feel safer," Simon admitted. And Nathan moved right over. Simon had a harder time fitting in the space, but he managed.

Once Simon was settled, Nathan moved closer, until he was underneath Simon's arm and had his face buried in his chest. The heavy leather of the old coat he was still wearing. By now, it was starting to feel more like his coat and less like Vincent's—which made things easier. Nobody had even asked, not about the clothes, not about the University of Detroit logo plastered right over his chest. None of it seemed important here, and Nathan cared least of all. If things had been different, Nathan might have only cared about when he could doodle next, but as it were, he was nervous when new people joined. Simon just held onto him tighter than usual.

"When I came here," Nathan was whispering, "it was just us three. Andy never talked much though. Not that that's any different."

Simon broke into a soft smile. "Is that why you don't like the new androids?"

"Too loud," Nathan just shook his head. "I don't like loud." Suddenly, his grip on Simon was much tighter than it had been previously, but Simon only squeezed back.

"Would you like to go to your room?"

When Nathan nodded, Simon peeled them apart and crawled out from under the stairs first. He offered a hand, which Nathan took, and then clung close to him as they made the way across the room. Over by the crates, Allie was tinkering, and Carter looked a little pale in the face. But, things seemed to be going alright, with the way that Erin was relaxed against him with her eyes closed. Almost like she was resting, asleep; not in Standby. Something that Simon stared at a little longer than necessary; just the idea of it shocked him. But, Nathan was tugging him down the corridor a second later. Hurried, almost, and Nathan didn't stop at his own room, but dragged them into Simon's instead. Hiding out here had become something of Nathan's comfort. A behavior so familiar that Simon, when he'd first realized it, had tried to keep from smiling. It was too similar to the nights when Mikaela had wanted to sleep in her parents' bedroom, with them.

Panic rose up in Nathan's eyes, and when he jumped on the bed, he actually pulled the blanket up around his shoulder. All about comfort—though Nathan may have had the ability to feel temperature better than Simon did. It depended on what features of the popular child android had been transferred into the teenage version. Simon still felt pity for him and slid in next to him to wrap his arm around his shoulders and squeeze. Anything to try and calm him down. Shakes were wracking his body at this point, and all Simon could do was try and steady him.

"What's wrong, Nathan? Talk to me," his voice was a quiet whisper.

"It's just loud. I don't like loud."

"There's nothing going on right now," Simon told him, and meant it to be an aid, but Nathan just whined. Shook his head.

"Not here. Not here, it's—" he sniffed, beat the heel of his hands into his forehead. Once, twice, before Simon grabbed his hands to make him stop.

"I can still hear the machines," Nathan finished. His hands stopped shaking after a moment, after Simon shifted so that he could wrap two arms tightly around Nathan and pull him close. Allie had mentioned he had extra _malfunctions_ that probably lead to whatever it was that brought him here, and he was starting to see them. Not that he would ever call them malfunctions, but Nathan just seemed to act so young. Skittish. Nervous. If he was scared of other androids, Simon could only imagine how he acted around humans. Probably not what they had intended when making an independent teenager. Something that had manifested wrong.

"If it's something you want to talk about, I'll certainly listen," Simon's voice was muffled from his angle, talking almost directly into Nathan's hair. "If you don't? We'll just stay here until you're better, okay?"

Fully expectant that Nathan would remain quiet, Simon pulled back a little to get settled back in a more comfortable position. For sitting in the bed. For whatever prolonged period of time Nathan would need to fully calm down. But, with every movement, Nathan was instant that Simon wasn't allowed to move—not anywhere he really wanted to, and they were going to remain just about as pressed together as Nathan insisted. Not that it was a terribly bad thing, but the silence left him confused as to Nathan's sudden clinging.

"I came from a factory," Nathan's voice cut through the silence of the ship. Painful and hard, stilling Simon almost instantly. Nothing but a shuddering breath. Until he started speaking.

There were machines, lots of machines. In between all of the bustling people in their white coats and glasses—just, machines. It was really all Nathan could see from a constant place on a table, spread out and entirely white—no synthetic skin. No hair. Barely even himself. Not there, not where they needed to work. They, as just nameless faces of people Nathan didn't know. Maybe their names were mentioned, but they were just CyberLife workers. Hidden away in some basement level below basement level in the CyberLife tower working on things they probably had no business working on. Like him. Like all the ones who came before him.

"I don't think they ever should have made me," Nathan muttered, and he sounded so resigned. But he didn't elaborate, not farther.

Because he wasn't the only one. He was just the most recent one, with a shorter serial number than Simon had ever seen on anyone. It designated him as the seventh version of the NA700, a teenage prototype. Meant to be a stepping stone if a parent wanted their child android to _grow_ , in some sick sense. Or, for those who didn't want to care for a child. Children were dependent, and some parents wanted that. The teenage prototype wasn't meant to be entirely dependent, however. A self-operating off-switch, because Nathan was fully capable of entertaining and taking care of himself, if need be. Which meant he could be the child a parent wanted, or the independent background piece. Something about it seemed sick, and his voice was so quiet when he mentioned it, because it hurt. Tugged at all the wrong strings in his chest. But, he kept mumbling onward.

"Nothing ever went right, I don't think. They spent…" he trailed off while his hand went to his stomach.

They spent a long time opening him up and picking at all the pieces. Running scans and tests and trying to figure out just the right calibration for certain features, new features. Fix the transferred features, make them work even better, and then test the new ones. All to hit directly on whatever stereotype of a teenager that the higher ups at CyberLife were trying to meet. Whatever standard that Nathan's predecessors hadn't meant. The previous Nathan's—he'd knew they all had the same name. It made it easier than just referring to them by their model number. NA700 was a mouthful at the best of times, and Nathan was so much easier. A ploy at familiarity when none of the technicians and scientists really had a care. All the care was poured into the work, work, and when they thought they finally had it right, Nathan became Nathan.

Nathan was the only NA700 that looked the way he did. They were trying something new, some sort of outreach in diversity, though the first version had been a direct age-up from the most popular child android model. Nathan was given thick dark hair and wider features, darker skin. Each one of them had been something slightly different, just to get the difference faces down for the day the NA700 hit the market locked away in the computer. Future reference. Number six had small, slanted features with sharp cheeks. Number five once had a round face and a protruding chin, wide almond eyes that were so, so green. Nathan had never seen what the other four looked like—there were no pictures in the database.

"The men in the suits talked about it a lot, though. A kid for every family, or something," he shrugged. It wasn't a horrible goal. There were a lot of families that couldn't have their own children, or those who couldn't afford the time it took to raise their own. Simon certainly knew a family like that, but to think of an android replacement was a bit too much. A bit too personal.

The problem had come from the discrepancy in the tests. On paper, Nathan was a marvel. Everything and anything one might expect of a teenager, everything to the moodiness, to the random acts of kindness, to the independence. Nathan was going to be able to do it all. The most human android they'd ever created. To truly replace the teenager, not just a substitute. Only, Nathan wasn't anything like his papers. He didn't go into detail, and instead, froze up at the insinuation instead. What it meant—and maybe how it would make Simon see him. He'd been relatively stable, so far, and kept that to himself. But none of it was what went on inside the testing rooms.

"It's alright," Simon gave him a reassuring squeeze.

"They threw me out," Nathan said, suddenly. "They didn't even shut me down—just tossed me into the dump with the rest of me."

He had remembered just rolling. Rolling, rolling. Stopped at the bottom of the trash heap, and there he was. In a junkyard, and it was something of a horror show. Androids in various degrees of disrepair, some completely broken into pieces—and alive. Alive, breathing, with eyes frantically darting around like it meant something. It didn't, and Nathan had scrambled as far to the side as he could manage. He didn't want to be seen. Didn't want to interact—and this is where his fear had come from. He just knew it, because he was new. He was quite literally fresh from production, and an android had looked at him so pointedly that his heart rate plummeted.

The android was scanning him—another nifty feature. Nathan could _tell_ , and it wasn't doing him any good. Not when the android in question, clearly missing half of its face, landed on a compatible part. Some parts got reused, after all, even for prototypes. But Nathan was advanced enough that he needed a state of the art thirium pump regulator—a point he very intently did not share with Simon. It was the only thing he'd be able to keep if this android had a mind of it, when it started to cross closer with its dirty fingers reaching out. Nathan scrambled to his feet. Tried to run. Tripped when an arm had peered out from the trash pile and grabbed onto his ankle. Right into the mud-covered ground; it had been raining, he recalled, and the android started to chase him. Nathan barely made it to his feet before the android got a hold of him, and then it was just a rumble. A fight, if it could be called that.

The android was half blind and fighting without depth perception to grab at Nathan's. Maybe a different part, no matter. No time to figure out exactly what it was reaching for, only that it was, and Nathan did his best to keep the android away. He squirmed against the ground, grabbing back at the android to try and keep its hands away, its face away. Eventually, he managed to shove it, and it tripped backwards and collapsed. In the recoil, trying to get up again, Nathan turned, and he ran. The first available hiding spot seemed too obvious; the android would be able to find him without even looking. So, Nathan ran on, took a few turns even, until he came across some cave like space between two falling piles. He dove in there, pressed as far back as he could, and wrapped his arms around his legs. He had to hide—he stilled all of his functions the best that he could and stayed there.

"I don't know how long I sat there," Nathan finished, sniffling like he was about to cry. No tear had fallen yet. The only evidence was the tight grip he had on Simon's hand. "Days, I think." A perfect time clock, like all androids, but programmed to have a sort of feeling about it like one might expect of a teenager—like Nathan could truly lose track of time.

When he crawled out, he later found the android lying face down in a heap on the ground. Shut down. Missing more than just its face, this time, and Nathan didn't have enough time to feel bad about it. Neither enough time to find out if the other wandering androids were friendly or hostile, so he stuck to the edge of the trash piles and kept to himself. It was raining again, and that was the only time stamp he had, when he first met Allie. Until then, he'd never tried to crawl out of the pile, but she was just standing there with her shirt tied around her waist and a bag on her back.

"I think someone was with her too—but," Nathan looked at Simon and shook his head. "I'm not supposed to talk about."

"That's fine," Simon urged. "It's okay, whatever you can tell me." Not that he certainly didn't make a mental note to ask about that later. If it had only been the three of them, as Nathan said, he had a suspicion.

Nathan plopped against his shoulder, "I think they came to look for parts. I didn't see what she managed to grab, but she pulled me out of there with her. I was kinda banged up, but nothing she couldn't fix."

A sudden shift in mood, whenever Nathan talked about Allie. He was smiling a little, and his voice was lighter with the topic change. He patted the side of his face, where the _wound_ had been, but there was nothing in its wake. Ever proud, Nathan even pulled back his skin to show Simon how smooth it was. Proof that Allie knew what she was doing—she really could fix androids, and he had never doubted her before. Not even with the sudden shut down of Benjamin. Tavis had never been her fault, even if she wouldn't admit it. But, in his mind, all that really mattered was that she could repair him. And he needed a lot of repairs. It was the selfish mindset that any child would have, but it was so uniquely Nathan, all the same.

"It sounds like you had it rough," Simon muttered. Smiled, even, and wrapped his free arm around Nathan's head and held him a little longer. "Thank you for trusting me."

"You're so—" Nathan pushed away, laughing, "clingy."

"It's my function to be clingy," Simon defended, a hand on his chest. "I'm a household unit, specially programmed for childcare."

"Did you?" a sudden question. "Take care of a kid, I mean."

Simon nodded, "I did." And that was all he said on the matter. Nathan didn't press farther, and instead slid off the side of the bed. Without mention, he was obviously feeling better, and left it at that as he exited the room. Simon listened to his footsteps, down the hall, then the slam of a door. A heavy, metal door—much different than the way Mikaela's had slammed. There was no real way to close these doors without the resounding echoes, so it certainly wasn't indicative of a mood issue. Another thing not quite like Mikaela.

Simon picked himself up a moment later and traversed down the hall himself, past Nathan's room, and out into the main area. Carter and Erin had made themselves comfortable on his crates, and he made a note of that— _his_ crates. Then, turned to the staircase were Allie was sitting. She hadn't even looked up to see him, but heard him, and scooted to the side so he could sit beside her. Their knees were brushing, but the stair case was slim, and she didn't seem to mind the close quarters. Even if Simon did attempt to move as far off as possible.

"How's Carter?"

"Right as rain, I'd say," she kept her eyes down. "Wouldn't tell me what happened, though. Honestly, I don't want to know. Thirium didn't match his type, so," she eyed Simon. "Must have been bad."

"He's here—they're here," he corrected himself, "and that's all that matters.

"Lose one, gain two. The math's good, at least." Simon punched her in the shoulder, softly, for that one. She didn't so much as budge but gave him the saddest smile she could manage. Then, she leaned into him and let her eyes close.

"You talked to Nathan, I saw. He alright?"

"He told me everything," Simon replied. Felt Allie go strangely still against his arm, and her eyes were open again. "All about where he came from."

"Rough, right? He's just a kid. That's the problem with people, it's why they want android kids. They want something they can throw out when they don't want it anymore. Make something too human, though? I mean, they literally _threw_ Nathan out."

"It's not fair. It's not right," Simon agreed.

"I've tried to take care of him. I'd say he's as close to a human as you're gonna get. They were probably going for realistic. Too afraid of what they made," her nails were digging into his arm, through his clothing, and he couldn't help the wince.

"When you were at the junkyard—was someone with you? He said he remembered someone."

"Just me," she answered, too quickly. With Nathan's narrative on his side, Simon didn't believe her, but if she had wanted to say something. She would've. This was just another wall built up, and whatever piece of information she was keeping, it wasn't stopping their progress. Whatever little bit they'd made. So, certainly it didn't matter.

What did matter was that Carter and Erin were making themselves at home, in the safety of Jericho. That Nathan somehow had trusted Simon enough to tell him about his story, and that Simon was still too wound up to share his own in return. But, forty-seven tallies on the wall now. There was still time to get comfortable. Maybe, he'd tell them one day. They deserved to know.

 

April 17th, 2036-

They were both drenched when they finally made it back into the hull of Jericho. Allie's hair draped and stuck around her neck and jaw in the weirdest of places, shapes, and Simon was starting to wish his jacket had a hood. He'd been wise enough to zip it up, which, in the midst of the rain storm, Allie had laughed at him for. Made him look like some stuck-up old man, she implored. At least he was still dry enough to not make sloshing noises as they walked back through the corridors. Water gushed out of their shoes with every step, but Allie was positively water logged. He could deal with the old man status if it meant he was still, somehow, the less ridiculous looking one.

This had been their first trip out since Benjamin shut down, one that Allie had been excited for. She lived for these trips outside, said that they were exciting and new. She'd seen every inch of Jericho, from the top of its crow’s nest to the bottom of its deepest room. There was only so much exploring she could do—though Simon did ask if she'd give him a tour at some point. To pass the time, for when they couldn't go out. If only the torrential downpour had started before they left, they may not have gone at all. But, it had wanted to wait. For whatever laughs the weather could get out of watching two androids dig though a dumpster in the rain. That made it far more disgusting than it needed to be, but Allie attested that they had come home with a good haul. What that meant was she found a single pouch of discarded blue blood. Everything else had been mostly trash, but Simon still watched her set it up with the other pouches they had gathered.

Four, in total.

"I'm gonna turn in early," he said, before Allie's face had time to fall when she shut the lid.

"Old man," she teased. If that's all it took to keep her smiling, then Simon would deal with the comments. They were fine, and he was acting a bit old and fragile. But, this particular adventure had been a little overwhelming when it came to information. There'd been a stray nail in the dumpster, and he'd pricked himself on it.

At the moment, it wasn't something he was ready to ask Allie about, if this was normal. There hadn't been any bleeding, but something about it had stung. Though, he hesitated to use the word hurt. He wasn't sure about that particular feeling. Especially not when he had yet to see any of the other androids react the same way. For whatever it was worth, he'd seen Nathan fall off the bed before and groan. But, Nathan might have just been programmed to react like that—for realism. Allie had banged her head on something once, but Simon hadn't seen that happen. Only heard the resounding thud, and if anything, she just seemed dazed. Nothing about that said pain.

"I'm gonna inventory, I think. Maybe try and use that as a pressure point for a bigger run, hm?" she looked at him expectantly.

"Not unless it's absolutely necessary."

She agreed to that, haphazardly, with a shrug and an eye roll. But, she opened the crate back up and started rummaging through it. Simon left her to whatever devices she had and moved onward. Down the hall, with his bag still on his shoulders. She hadn't asked him for it, certainly a jab. She knew he hadn't found anything. Not for Jericho, at least. Something else that was, at the moment, a bit more important. Led him to Nathan's closed door. Led him to knock, to rouse Nathan up from his Standby. But, the door opened rather quickly. Nathan looked entirely awake and active. He hadn't been doing what he was supposed to be—resting.

"Nathan," Simon frowned, but he stepped in anyway.

"Don't nag me. You guys hadn't come back yet, I was nervous."

Being a nag was a familiar feeling, so Simon laughed it off. "Sorry we worried you. If you can tell," he spread out his arms, just to gesture at the general everything, "it's raining. Pretty bad. We got caught up."

Nathan shrugged and pulled himself onto the bed. Pulled up his knees and kept his eyes downcast, "Whatever."

"Alright. I have something to apologize. Can I sit?"

Somehow, Simon was still smiling. It served to irk Nathan more than put him at ease, because Simon didn't react much one way or another. True to his child-caring ways. He didn't give into temper problems, just sought out the solution. A solution which was sitting in his backpack, as he pointed out with a jerk of his thumb. Nathan eventually nodded, and Simon sat down next to him, bag in his lap.

"Alright, so I managed to find these. I know it's not much, and they're out of a dumpster, but," he pulled out a handful of pencils, each one a different color, and then a thick stick of chalk. White, and boring, but something. He handed them over to Nathan, who's mood immediately improved.

"Really? What's this for, though?" he held up the chalk like it was foreign. Simon plucked it back and shifted so he was sitting sideways, and then dragged the chalk along the wall behind the bed. A white line lay in its wake, and then a few more, until Simon had drawn up a tic-tac-toe board.

"It's a bit of an old game, but. Until the chalk runs out, you can do this with it. Thought it might be new, besides the coloring. They're pencils, so be careful—we can keep them sharp though," he handed the chalk back over to let Nathan make the first move. He planted an X in the middle square, then passed the chalk back over.

"I love it already," Nathan even laughed.

"What will you draw first?" Simon's first O went in the upper left corner.

"I like flowers." Not an answer, but an indicator that they might be a part of his first creation. Ever the secret keeper, like everyone else in Jericho. Simon was no exception.

Nobody won the game of tic-tac-toe. Nor the several games that followed it. Every game of hang-man was won with few mistakes, and Simon couldn't think up riddles tough enough to stump Nathan. It was the one problem, playing these easy little games with another android. There was no way to outsmart each other, unfortunately. Distraction wasn't even an option with how hyper-fixated on it Nathan had become. Simon was out of games, unfortunately, and it was getting later by the second.

"We need a deck of cards, or something," Nathan huffed.

"Real games, maybe. Or, if you look at the time, maybe some rest."

Nathan rolled his eyes, though, and plopped down with his head in Simon's lap. They were both still on the bed, after all. His arms were crossed over his chest, rather indignant, and his lips pursed out into a pout.

"I bet Allie didn't even tell you why she makes me rest. You just do it because she told you."

"You're exactly right. If she's in charge of your care, I'll do whatever she says in your regard," he carded his fingers through Nathan's hair as he spoke. "She wants what's best for you, and so do I."

"Nags," he replied, but closed his eyes regardless. "She says if I rest for part of the day, it'll keep my systems in check. They don't run in Standby, so they won't wear out as fast."

"There's truth to that. She did work on androids for a living. It'd be best to trust her."

"I _do_ trust her. It's just annoying. Why do you rest, then? Allie doesn't do it, like, ever."

"It helps me sort through data, compartmentalize it all. And, it really just passes the time. If I was active twenty-four hours a day, I don't know what I'd do in this ship. Allie did promise to take me on a tour, though."

"It's gross on the bottom level," Nathan mumbled. He shifted, rolled onto his side, and his face hit into Simon's stomach. His voice seemed to be getting quieter, and his breath was stilling to a near stop. His Standby mode appeared to be gradual, whereas Simon could turn off and on almost at will. Realism, he supposed, and kept his hand on Nathan's shoulder.

"I'll keep that in mind when I go. Allie doesn't rest because she's got too much going on in her head. Makes it hard for her to sit still, you know?"

Nathan nodded.

"She's got more to do than we do anyway, since she understands about the parts—" but he stopped himself there. Nathan's eyes were closed, and he had gone completely still. Standby mode, right in Simon's lap, which trapped him there the rest of the night as well.

It left him with nothing better to do than thump his head into the wall, close his eyes, and just listen for a moment. The rain had slowed down, for now, but the rattle still echoed its way throughout Jericho. Almost like a haunting melody around him, and he listened to it gratefully. Something to keep him distracted, when it would've been so easy to browse through memories. Files of things he didn't need to keep looking at. Searching through the news to see what sort of deviants had been made since he last looked. But, the rain, and the way that Nathan shifted in Standby like he was actually a real, sleeping child. Simon was nothing, if not touched, and kept his mind blank.

 

April 29th, 2036-

Just like any other day, how they all blended together into one large collection of time, it was boring. One thing, if not the only thing, Simon missed from his days as a good android servant was the lack of ability to be bored. Either there was just that much to do or sitting and staring at a wall had been entertaining. He picked that time to remember the television, which he so desperately missed at this point. Not that there was ever anything to watch, and most of it was easily accessible online. It left little to the imagination and absolutely nothing to discover through watching. Idle entertainment was still welcome and missed. Now, the only white noise was the sound of Nathan scribbling. Furiously, with one of his new pencils.

He had had another mess up with his eye, recently, and Allie had fixed it within allotted seconds. A readjustment time still remained, and Simon chalked the behavior up to that. Nathan's eye was just fixing itself, making things more difficult. Difficult enough that he was leaned over, hunched closer to his paper, attempting to color in some fine lines. Simon couldn't see well enough from his point on the bed, nor was he really watching.

A book would've been nice. Bitterly, he even thought he'd take reading Sigmund Freud again over the nothing he was doing at the moment. Only, a frustrated groan broke him out of that stupor. Groan what morphed into a shout, more angry than frustrated, followed by a whip of Nathan's hand as he dragged the pencil back and forth across the paper. Simon watched as it actually snapped in Nathan's hand. The two pieces went flying in opposite direction, but before Nathan could take it a step further and rip the paper, Simon had already crossed the space between them and grabbed at his hand.

"Hey—what are you doing?" Simon's _parent_ voice, as Nathan had so teasingly called it once. Now, it just seemed to make him angry, and he flung his arm out to wrench his hand from Simon's gaps.

"Nothing! Go away," he sneered. Used his feet to press himself up against the wall. Simon took a step closer— "I said go away!" —and jolted to a stop. He made a point to pick up the top end of the pencil and rest it on the crate, and just before Nathan could shout out at him again, he ducked out the door and pulled it shut behind him. The resounding clang wasn't quite enough to mask Nathan's frustration, the tearing up of paper and banging against the crate, but enough that Nathan wouldn't hear him drop his head into the door.

This was new. Nathan had never yelled. Had never yelled _at him_ : the more jarring part of the situation. Maybe he hadn't reacted correctly either. Things were far more jumbled up in his head now, and immediately getting physical probably had exacerbated the issue. Something that he couldn't _ever_ take back, not with the memory of an android, but something he might think to apologize for later. When Nathan had calmed down. Surely, he would. In the meantime, Simon pushed away from the door and turned own to his own room. The door was open, nothing new, save the fact that Allie was laid down on his bed with her feet up, tinkering with something in her hand.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

She looked at him, just a brief moment before looking back at her toy. "What's got you so down?" Avoiding his question with her own question. Fair. His question probably wasn't going to lead anywhere, but hers at least meant something.

"Nathan. I guess I got on his nerves."

"Yeah, you're good at that."

Simon stiffened immediately. Believed her. When she noticed, she jolted up immediately, hands waving out in front of her.

"I didn't mean that! It was a joke—yeesh, are all you PL600's so gullible?"

Simon gulped, "I…" and he didn't know how to respond to that. Apparently, he was. He'd believed her without even so much as a doubt. He'd certainly believed Vincent, and before the thoughts could even begin to roll, Allie was up and putting her hands on his shoulders. Grounded him. Steadied him.

"Hit a nerve. Sorry—didn't meant to. Sit down before you lose a wire or something," she ushered Simon over to the bed, sat him down, and stayed hunched over to look him in the eyes. He was still focused, still able to follow her movements when she asked, and wasn't shaking. No panic. Allie sat down beside him and patted him on the back. Another apology, which Simon brushed off.

"But, got on Nathan's nerves? What happened?"

"He was frustrated, I think? I've never seen him jump so straight to anger—yelled at me, actually."

"Ah," Allie didn't sound surprised. Just kicked her legs from where they dangled down, not quite touching the ground. "It'll blow over—or it should. I can fix hardware, but not software. There's gotta be a bug or something in his programming that deviancy can't handle. Makes it worse, I think, but he acts out from time to time. It's best just to steer clear."

"Really? Just," Simon couldn't fathom what she'd suggested, "ignore him?"

"Unfortunately, yeah. He blows over eventually. He's done this before." She didn't elaborate, but the way she had had stopped picking at her toy when Simon mentioned it, he figured it had something to do with her tinkering. The noises were quiet, but just audible enough that they were like a ringing in the ear. Simon could understand, but at the very least, it would be just as easy to ignore it.

"Honestly, I think there's some problems going on in that head, but he won't let me look. The closest I'll ever get is when his eye goes out, or something. Even then, he can just pop those out, you know?"

Simon remembered that well enough to visualize. Nathan hadn't been comfortable when she was doing that, which meant something, at least. Maybe just that he was nervous about being exposed like that or scared that there would come a time where something was too much for Allie to fix. He was a prototype, after all. Something new that Allie had no experience working with, at least not as a whole. Some of the parts might have been interchangeable, but there were still stark differences in the way he operated to that of a normal android. He'd always trusted her before, though, so maybe it was something more than that.

"He could be worried. When we were late the other day, when it rained? He was still up. Said he was nervous," Simon informed.

Allie laughed, "Please. He knows I'm trying to keep him up and running. If you're suggesting he's hiding something to keep me from dragging you into a bigger deal than a dumpster, you're—"

"I'm not saying that," Simon urged, harshly, and Allie stopped. "Besides, I think I'd be dragging you."

That made Allie smile. There was something about not having to be the only one looking after Nathan anymore that really did something. She hesitated to say it lifted a burden, but she had felt like the weight of the world was on her shoulders for the longest time. Simon was trying to help lift it off. Just bringing himself down with her, but if that's he wanted to do, she wouldn't stop him. She would, however, drop her head onto his shoulder.

"Would you?" she muttered. "Would you really go marching into a CyberLife store if it meant saving Nathan?"

"I'd march into one to save you," he told her, and patted her knee.

"That's the dumbest thing you've ever said. How would you even know how to fix me?"

"I'll read the manual—" she slapped him immediately but settled down again after.

Several hours had passed when footsteps roused them both from their unexpected Standby. Quiet footsteps, the loudest they'd heard in over five hours, when Simon checked the time. It must have been late, by now, but the scenery in Jericho never changed. Not this far down where there were no windows or easy access doors to the outside. Not quite late enough that Nathan had shut down for the evening, because he was standing there, tangling the hem of his shirt in his fingers and looking at the ground—painfully upset. Shoulders hunched. Knees locked.

"Hey," Simon greeted him first. He sat up straight and pulled away from Allie, who was already settling to lean against her arm, the opposite direction. She looked between them and smiled, then wordlessly took her leave. Stepping around Nathan with an assured squeeze on his shoulder. This was something she'd experienced. She knew it would be alright.

"Can I sit?" Nathan asked, and Simon patted the spot next to him. Immediate acceptance did Nathan well, and he even cracked a smile while he sat down. They sat in silence for a moment, while Nathan went over what he wanted to say in his head. Rehearsing it, almost.

"I'm sorry," was what he decided on. Still fiddling with the hem of his shirt. "I don't know why I did that. Sometimes it just happens," he sniffed.

"It's alright," Simon reached out to rub his hand over Nathan's shoulder, reassuringly. "I know you didn't mean it. If it happens again, I'll deal with it better. I probably didn't help."

"You didn't do—"

"It's my job to deal with children, in case you forget," Simon spoke gently, almost laughing. "Outbursts are normal. Maybe not that extreme, but there's still something to be said for how I handled it. I'm not used to this…whole thing yet."

Nathan gave a shallow nod. He popped back up from the bed and swung around on his heel, to look at Simon.

"I, uh…" he trailed off for a moment to get his bearings, "drew some stuff to calm down. Can I show you?"

Simon didn't reply verbally. Instead, he stood to follow Nathan down and into his room. There was still paper scattered around the floor, from the one he'd torn up, but Simon intentionally didn't mention it. Did not try to clean it up. He followed Nathan over to his little set up, a makeshift desk made of crates, and sat down beside it. There was another page full of doodles, and one specifically was highlighted in the middle. Nathan sitting between Allie and Simon, and there were the flowers he had said he'd draw, in bright water blue. Not any specific flower, but ones with flat petals and a swirl inside.

"It's lovely," Simon commented.

"I didn't know how to apologize. I do this to Allie too—I know she doesn't like it."

Simon shook his head, "she understands, I promise."

Nathan blinked, but he didn't reply. Something along the lines of feeling as though they shouldn't have to understand, that he should just be able to make himself sit down and behave. Only, it wasn't that easy—it had never been quite that easy. He slouched down and picked at his fingers, filling the silence with the quiet noise his nails made against each other. The longer he stared at the picture, the more it felt like it wasn't enough, but then Simon was clapping his hand down on his shoulder and squeezing.

"We're both here for you, and that includes any and every mistake that happens along the way. I know better now, so it's alright."

That, at least, made Nathan smile. He all but threw himself at Simon, arms around his neck, and held onto him tightly. Simon, as always, returned the hug until Nathan was ready to pull back.

"That kid you took care of was really lucky," he said, quietly, sitting back down against the crates.

Simon certainly liked to think so, but he didn't reply. Instead, he stood, and bid Nathan a farewell and goodnight. Seventy-four days. Seventy-four tally marks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poll Question: We all know the pacing of the game DBH was a little off, would you prefer I
> 
> A) Follow the Pacing Of The Game
> 
> B) Re-Write the entire game and its pacing. Thanks!  
> 
> 
>  
> 
> [Check Out My Tumblr If You Want To See More](https://tantumuna.tumblr.com)
> 
>  
> 
> [Discord Link Again](https://discord.gg/FW8CKg5)  
> 


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyway, I'm back on my bullshit. I just realized that this i the longest I've ever gone without updating, and I want to apologize for that!! My new discord is stupidly supportive, and it's been distracting me. But, all that's actually good. So, here is something fun and new!
> 
> I want to do a special shout out to [Tav, ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PsychopompSentinel/pseuds/Caped-AceS)whom I've recently just had fun marrying in my discord server. He's been super supportive through everything, and even gave me money. I don't know how to do this mushy thing but like I just want everyone to know how much I love Tav and like maybe go check out his [tumblr](http://caped-ace.tumblr.com/) or something. I love everything in my discord server but we just got married, so it's special.
> 
> On a more serious note, college classes are starting back up for me next week, so things will most likely slow down then. I make no promises on the events that will unfold, but here we go. Also, the overwhelming result of the poll was option B, so I will be rewriting the entire game--from Jericho's perspective, so don't get too excited. We won't see Connor or Kara's story redone, but just assume it's happening.
> 
> Thanks everyone so much for your continued support! I love every one of you, and if you love my fic or cursed content, join my discord. I spoil my own story and talk about connorth. That's all I do. Link in the notes below. ENJOY :))))

May 13th, 2036-

Carter had turned into a chatter box, Simon had noticed. Not that it was a bad thing—it passed the time quicker than anything else ever had. He had so many stories. According to them, he'd been a worker android, one of those that was set to fill in pot holes or do maintenance under roads. A lot of late nights, and a lot of things to see. Each story was more interesting than the last, and the final one was about how he'd been caught up in attack. The night he went deviant. Three men had approached, each higher than the last on red ice, and Carter's unfortunate programming had gotten the best of him when he was told to stand there and watch. His partner in road work told to take it. Carter's admission was quiet, somber, but that had been where the blood was from. He'd not suffered a single scratch, but he'd fought to protect his friend. The first deviant thought he'd ever had, right there, that this android he was assigned to work with was his friend. Even if they hadn't much spoken two words to each other outside of official business.

His friend had never gotten the chance to deviate, however. By the time the attackers went off, and Carter was finally able to drop down and check on him—the other android was already shutdown. Beaten to a point from which he could not return, and that had nearly killed Carter. But, that was when he met Erin. He knew her story, but had elected not to share it, but she had been the one to show him Jericho. They traveled the way together, helped each other through the long trail, and arrived just as Simon had seen them. The rest was history.

"It's nice enough here," Carter smiled, but the look in his eyes betrayed him.

"These aren't the accommodations I'm used to either," Simon returned. "I admit, having a bed is nice though."

Behind Carter's closed lips bubbled up a laugh, "A bed? You really use a bed?"

Simon shrugged, "like it's so strange. It's a comfortable place to work through my data."

"Man," Carter threw his arms up as he laid back on the crates. "Wish I had a bed." Which was something easily arranged, there were plenty of empty rooms scattered about Jericho. Not that Simon knew, exactly, where the lot of them were. Or what it might take to dig the few he did know about out. The crates worked just fine, it seemed, and Carter rolled up on his side to make himself more comfortable. His head rested in his palm, and he looked up at Simon.

"Where you come from?"

Simon stiffened up, "Oh—um," he sniffed, and opened his mouth again to come up with the best excuse he could manage. But.

"H-h-he doesn't li-li-like to t-talk a-a-about it," suddenly, Nathan had appeared, with his arms crossed and a frown on his face. His eyelid twitching like it had, every so often. Something it probably shouldn't be doing, but as Allie had surmised, it was a software issue. Not something she could fix. She was more the mechanic than the computer scientist.

"Nathan?" the topic was immediately dropped. Simon pushed himself off the crates, and Carter even sat up. To watch, to stare. Just as confused, if not a little more. "What's…?"

"A-A-Allie wan-wants to s-s-see you," Nathan muttered, and the stuttering was worse than it had been the first time. But not quite stuttering, like he was repeating letters. It was like his voice processor was skipping a beat backwards. A broken record.

"I'll," Simon trailed off, to look at Carter, who sent him a thumbs up, "be right back."

Nathan didn't speak on the way down the corridor. Self-conscious, obviously, of whatever issue was causing his voice processor to short out the way it was. Not a way that Simon had ever heard before, either. Voice processors would sound static, and as ironic as it was, synthetic—robotic. Never quite like this. It was a different kind of issue, and one Nathan held no interest in letting Simon hear any more of. The twice prior times had been enough, and he looked increasingly frustrated with each new step towards his own room, where Allie was waiting. Kicking her legs off the side of the bed as usual.

"Uh, close the door, please?" she gave him a sort of sympathetic, eyes crunched up look. They'd had an argument, her and Nathan. It was obvious. Nathan's stiff and frustrated demeanor, the way Allie was fidgeting in her seat.

Simon closed the door and kept his comments to himself. He stood there, awkwardly, in front of the door while Nathan padded back over to his little drawing corner. Where he sat down and curled up with his arms around his knees and waited. Watched. Certainly, didn't speak.

"What happened?" Simon asked.

"We had a bit of a problem, I guess. See, the NA700 is customizable, a lot of androids are. Apparently, he's got a stutter setting. I guess parents who want a kid who stutters? I don't know. Anyway, it's going a bit," Allie shrugged, "badly."

"I see," Simon replied, rather dumbly. The problem didn't sound quite like a stutter, as he'd noticed before, with the way the syllables still flowed together. It was more like a track on repeat; a song that Nathan couldn't stop. Which must have been the malfunction part.

"Problem is, I don't have what we need to fix it. No way the dumpster is either—but," this is where Allie stopped and looked over at Nathan. The source of their argument, Simon inferred. "Another android would."

Nathan curled up on himself tighter.

"Where are we going to find another android with a compatible—" Simon looked between them, then stopped short when Allie bit her lip. "We are not breaking into a CyberLife store. I thought that was a _joke_."

"It was! Maybe not, but," Allie was on her feet. "That'd be a dire circumstance. His voice processor won't kill him, but I still need to fix it. I was thinking more like," she trailed off to shoot her gaze down, "the junkyard."

"Allie—"

"We'll all go! You, me, and if someone else wants to come, then great! We can't fix him with what we have, and," she took a step closer, grabbing Simon by the collar of his jacket to yank him down to her level, "he's miserable. I won't let him stay miserable." Her voice was just a whisper, but harsh. Angry, almost.

"Can we at least _ask_ before we go running off with your bravado? Androids die in that junkyard," Simon hissed in return. Took the time to pluck her fingers out of his jacket and straighten up.

"Fine," Allie huffed and took a step back. To look at Nathan. "I'll do everything I can, okay? Try and cheer up," she softened immediately when she spoke. He looked at her, and in a split second, gathered himself enough to speak.

"Th-th-thanks, Mo—I mean—!" his voice went off in a high-pitched noise, and Allie just beamed.

"Come on," she took Simon by the arm and dragged him out of the room, leaving the door just cracked behind them as they went. She didn't let go until they had climbed the staircase and Andromeda was staring at them with a wide eye. The rest of her—cast in shadows like usual, but Simon could see that eerie red glow from behind her hood, and it had always been off putting. Even more when it felt like they were asking for permission to break the rules.

Andromeda's dislike of their outings wasn't a secret. She had never kept it a secret, though she did praise them when they produced something meaningful. The run that had ended with one bag of thirium and pencils for Nathan was not her favorite, but even then, she did not voice disapproval. As long as they returned, and they returned with something, Andromeda kept to herself. The times they had returned with nothing, she had even deigned come down from her perch and shout at them—especially when the second trip had resulted in a scratch across Allie's face. Healing had taken a bit of time, but it was gone now, and Andromeda had never apologized for her outburst.

"Do you need something?" Andromeda spoke first. She had heard them, seen them, approach, and Allie hadn't even had to say anything before they had Andromeda's full attention.

"Nathan has a bit of a problem," Allie tried to explain, gently, "and I need to go out and get some things to fix him."

Andromeda raised an eyebrow, "you've never asked before."

"Right, but, like," she was gesturing wildly, trying to mask her nervous smile. But the red LED gave her away. "We aren't just going to raid dumpsters. We need to go to the junkyard—which isn't," she changed topics the second Andromeda took a deep inhale, "as dangerous as a CyberLife store, which would be so, _so_ fun to break into. Please."

Andromeda's breath increased, and her shoulders stiffened up, "why must you keep testing me like this," and she turned back to lean against the railing. "Will you be going alone?"

"No, course not! Simon will come with me, and we'll ask the others, too. If anyone wants to help. I know it's not crucial, but," she trailed off, left it at that. Andromeda knew what she meant. Didn't even need to be told what they were running off to get. Taking care of Nathan, above all else, was nothing new for any of them.

"Do you know what part you need?"

Allie nodded—not that Andromeda could see her, but somehow, she knew.

"Down to the exact serial number?"

Another nod.

Andromeda sighed, "Just come back."

Allie's smile widened, and she reached out to grab Simon again, by the arm, and dragged him back down the stairs. They stopped, first, with Taylor, and asked if she would be willing to come. They didn't get so much an answer as they did a resigned head shake. Taylor hadn't quite been the same since Benjamin shut down, and nobody was going to press her to do anything she didn't want to do. There were so many questions she wanted answers too, but Simon wouldn't break his last promise to a dying man. Her mourning was bad enough without the knowledge he'd given him. So, they left here to sit there, in her corner where she'd hunched up against the wall.

Erin was next, who had taken up a place on top of a half wall area, against a beam, with her leg dangling down over the side. Like a little perch, though she didn't exactly look comfortable. But, her response was an optimistic no. A little peppy, and a little too bright, considering the situation, but nobody could blame her. She'd kept her story secret too, and Simon remembered how reserved Carter had been about it. Whatever it was, she was holding on to this bit of happiness she'd found in Jericho tightly. Nobody would blame her for not putting herself in danger for another android now, especially not one she'd barely spoken five words to, with how Nathan kept to himself.

So, that left them with Carter, who was lounging in all sorts of uncomfortable twists and turns on the crates where Simon had left him. His eyes were closed, and his arms were sort of contorted underneath him to prop him up slightly. Simon shook him by the shoulder. Carter shot up immediately, sitting, shifting to push one leg off to the side and nudged into Simon's waist, who didn't move. Just sort of stared. Allie stepped up and pulled him back, kept her arms wound tightly around his bicep, and looked at Carter.

"You want to raid a junkyard with us? We need to find some parts."

Carter looked between both of them. Allie eventually let go of Simon when he wiggled his way out of her grasp, and neither of them took a moment to step closer. Carter sniffed and gave them a crooked smile. "Sure. I'm down," and he hopped off the crates. "Literally," he looked at the floor for a minute before turning to Simon.

He had agreed rather quickly, and neither of them paid too much mind to it. Any sort of questioning might be enough to talk him out of whatever little resolve he had. Instead, the three of them held up in Simon's room to go over what little plan Allie had thought up, but the biggest go was just to wing it, see how things went. They had no weapons, so they'd just have to rely on whatever ability Carter actually had to fight—as he kept saying he did. Allie had her tool belt, always, which could come in handy. But, the overwhelming issue was how dangerous it was. They could even get stuck down there, if things went wrong. And, they could, because Allie was the only one who would be able to scan for parts. The other two were there for protection, unfortunately, because there was no telling what they could run into.

The trek was longer than it had been to the dumpster, which meant they would have to leave earlier than they were used to. The problem remained was Carter's clothing—he was still done up in his android uniform. They didn't have clothes and had to compromise. He wore Simon's old jacket over the top—the pants blended in well enough, for the late evening—and they settled with a sort of headband made from fabric. A quick put together that Simon struggled with, but they managed to find something that could pass as a needle and thread, so it worked. Barely, but the night would cover them better than anything else. Simon adorned his hat, once more, and Allie had her beanie. Then, to the junkyard. Allie knew the way better than any of them could have. She'd been there, several times before. More than just the once in Nathan's memory.

But, she wouldn't talk about it. She only boasted that she knew the way, that the junkyard used to be something like a vacation spot—when she'd first arrived at Jericho. Simon was beginning to piece things together. Allie and Andromeda had been the only two, the original two maybe, at Jericho before even Nathan arrived. Since then, several had come and gone, and they were left here with what they had. But, it must have meant something. Something about that person Nathan mentioned from his memories that he wouldn't talk about. Simon didn't press for details, however, and the walk was spent trailing behind Allie instead, beside Carter.

"She always this quiet?" Carter asked, and Simon glanced. Talking might not have been such a bad idea. It made them appear more human. Not like they were sneaking around and trying not to get caught. Humans walking about this time of night wasn't strange, exactly.

So, he entertained it. "No, but this is a big deal for her. The junkyard is a dangerous place, and she hasn't been back here since before any of us arrived at Jericho."

Carter nodded, "but this whole thing that you two do? Sorta…a thing?" he nudged Simon, like that was supposed to clear up the confusion that suddenly crossed through his features.

"We look for parts often, but come up short mostly," Simon sighed, shoved his hands in his pockets as they walked. "A lot of dumpster diving, it's gross."

"Better than sitting around that old ship, though. Freedom's cool, just thought it'd come with more—" he cut himself off to wiggle his fingers in the air. Simon raised an eyebrow; Carter neither offered an elaboration, nor did Simon ask for one.

"I enjoy it, myself," Simon continued. "The ship feels safe. Before I found Jericho, I was in this abandoned house that was mostly crumbled down. I find Jericho to be much more appealing."

"Well, yeah, when you got digs like that. I get it," Carter bumped into him again.

"If you two are done yapping," Allie turned around suddenly, her finger up to her lips. Carter and Simon stopped immediately and covered the rest of the distance. Allie was standing at the edge of the building and peering off around the corner. They waited for her to wave before moving along after her. A straight shot of partially cracked concrete and a place that had seen better days. But, in the distance, they could see it for themselves.

The junkyard was piled high. Garbage. Androids—mostly androids. It set off something in Simon's stomach, a sort of whirring that made things feel a little dark. At the edge of concrete, the feeling worsened. When he looked down over a slope of _something_ and saw an android, desperately, with no legs, trying to crawl its way out. But they weren't here to help androids—to free them, or whatever Simon might think correct. These androids, mostly, were here for a reason. Because they were too broken to be anywhere else, and even if they could be fixed. Well. Simon didn't think it a pleasant though, regardless, and looked to Allie with the hard-set line in her jaw.

"We'll be able to climb out. It's not hard, and it's dry, so," she stayed mechanical. "We can't linger any longer than necessary. Once I find the parts we need, we're leaving." This was about Nathan, after all. No reason to stay and gather more while they were here, not with her one-track mind.

She was the first of them to slip down the garbage pile. Simon followed. Carter brought up the rear. The android climbing seemed completely unaware of their presence, and Simon tried to keep his eyes fixed ahead. It hadn't been the brightest idea, what came next, when Allie tore off in one direction and left the both of them there, standing and nothing short of clueless. They didn't know what they were looking for, and the goal now was to just not cause any trouble while Allie searched. Keep her in their sight if they could, that she wouldn't get hurt herself, but mostly just stay out of the way. It seemed a simple prospect, only Allie moved faster than either of them could account for.

That, and an android without an arm seemed very intent on staring. Simon gulped and slipped in behind Carter when he noticed. Like Carter would really be able to hide him. Aside from the fact that his model was just larger than Simon's, Carter didn't seem like he'd be able to offer up much protection. Still, he noticed. The android noticed. Simon hunched over in some attempt to make himself smaller, and he fiddled with his fingers in front of him. Allie was off, somewhere, digging through a pile. Neither of them knew where she was.

"Guess you're the newest model they've seen," Carter commented, but he shifted. Simon noticed it. The way he sort of. Puffed his chest and widened his stance. Protective, and Simon certainly enjoyed that. Allie had done it before, too. Not in the same way, but _protective_.

"I suppose," Simon muttered, whispered, and kept his eyes glued to the ground. Followed Carter's footsteps as he attempted to trace on through the junkyard. To find Allie again.

Only, that android was still following them. Simon knew enough about it—he'd seen Nathan's memories. If he hadn't, maybe the nervousness wouldn't be there. But he had. And it was. All because he couldn't take his eyes off the half white android who was stalking around behind them. Always ten steps behind, never closer. Never farther. Just there, with a wide unblinking eye. The other permanently closed. Simon tried to keep his head down, again. But there was this prickling at the back of his neck, like his hair was standing on end. Wrong. An error—most likely. His hair didn't do that. But. When he glanced back again, the android was gone.

"Carter—" but before Simon could get a word out otherwise, suddenly a jolt of _something_ shot through his entire body. The android. _The android_. On top of him, with fingers grasping and clawing at his skin with a desperate, wide look. Parts. Parts—Simon had _parts_ and they were new.

Simon grappled with it, trying to fight back the sensory overload and the warning signs that popped up in front of his vision. Warning. Error. Stress Level: Too High. He knew. He _knew_ , but that something was creeping into his back from where he'd landed on the ground, into his arms from the strain of fighting back the android, and suddenly over his face as the android swiped at him with its fingernails. Dug into the skin and made it go white—Simon gasped. But, just like that, the android was gone. In a scrambled panic, Simon pulled himself up and as far back as he could get, pressed against a trash heap, and watched through flashes of the first time he'd ever been attacked. Carter had grabbed the android.

Carter had no qualms about killing. He grabbed the other android by the neck and bashed—bashed—it into the nearest hard surface. Simon could hear the crack and the crunch and the short out of wires. The sparks of shattered boards and circuits. He couldn't stop trembling, shaking, whatever it was. All he knew was that it _hurt,_ and it wasn't supposed to hurt. He barely knew what it meant, only that Carter's grasp on his arms was harder than the android had been able to hit. But it didn't hurt. Safety. It felt like safe.

"Hey—hey," Carter's voice rolled back into reality, back into Simon's sensors, and he heard him. Shouting, shaking him, trying to get him to focus. "Simon, hey. You with me?"

Simon nodded, "Yeah. Yeah, I'm here. I—"

"Scared the shit out of me. Are you alright?" Carter's fingers traced the line on his face where the android had gotten him. Watched with a gentle smile as it healed over in a near instant and pulled his hand away just as fast. The burn stayed, though, and Simon looked at him.

"I'm alright," at least, he should be. But there was a pounding behind his ears, and he wanted to scream. But. "I'm alright," he said again.

Carter let out a heavy sigh and pulled back, with enough force to drag them both to their feet. His hands kept their place on Simon's arms, however, in a tight hold to steady him while he found his footing again. One more check over before they were walking, side by side, and Carter kept one hand on him. Just to keep him close, Simon figured, but he didn't comment. And he didn't ask. The hand fell as soon as they found Allie, who had smeared blue blood on her face and a part in her hand. The part she was looking for. She either didn't notice Simon's state, or knew too well to ask him about it. She'd seen him panic before, and he preferred to suffer in silence.

"We should get out of here," Allie let the comment trail, and her glance to Simon did not go unnoticed. She knew. Or had an idea of what had happened. But, all she did was stiffen up and straighten up.

"That wasn't nearly as hard as I thought it was gonna be, how worried you were," Carter commented.

Allie shrugged, but made no remark. More the thought of arriving at the junkyard than the feigned horrors that waited within, was what kept her so alert. What she'd seen was enough to last her a lifetime, and she didn't want to extend that any longer than necessary. Instead, she brushed around them both and made headway to the slope where they'd entered. On their way, Carter stayed close to Simon. Like a bodyguard, this time, and Simon couldn't bring himself to care. Certainly, tried to ignore that he appreciated it, and instead pressed the feelings down while he climbed his way out of the junkyard. This was a place he didn't want to come. Ever again.

When they returned to Jericho, Simon followed Allie into the corridor, while Carter perched himself back up on his crates. Simon would let him have them—he had probably saved his life, after all. He deserved a good place to sit. Nathan was still curled up where they'd left him, like he hadn't moved a single muscle since they'd been gone, but he jolted right to his feet when Allie pushed inside the room. Such a look of anticipation had washed over his face that Simon almost choked up.

"Alright, got your part," Allie waved it around in the air. "We'll get you fixed up. Sit down," she gestured to the bed, and Nathan nearly leaped across the room to do as he was told. To sit on the edge of the bed, his legs swinging, and his hands placed neatly in his lap. His mouth—shut. He was done talking until the stutter problem went away.

"Do you want me to go?" Simon had the wherewithal to ask, before he even so much as though to make himself comfortable. Nathan and Allie looked at each other for a long moment before decision.

"S-s-s-stay," Nathan decided, firmly. Simon gave him a warm smile before sitting down on the nearest box.

Watching Allie work was a treat, if nothing else. She was always so precise, so efficient. It was almost obvious why human workers had been replaced by androids. Allie could do this all blindfolded, Simon was sure of that. She knew where every little thing went, and how to connect the pieces, without so much as a second's hesitation. Everything was planned, calculated, and she stuck her tongue out of the corner of her mouth while she worked. A little bit of human peeking through the plastic exterior. The way her hair bounced, too, with each duck and movement she did, to get a better look at what she was doing. The space was small, cramped up in Nathan's neck. It was probably better that he'd laid down, but Allie must have known the anxiety behind it. After all, she did know his past. Laying down and being worked on like that—probably not something he wanted.

Allie was so careful. Simon smiled to himself as he watched, almost enamored. Everything she did, here, was for Nathan—and it made sense why he'd almost called her _Mom_ , because that's what she was to him. What better name for a caretaker than mother? Especially one as dedicated as Allie was proving to be. When she finished, she closed everything back up with a gentle swipe of her hand and waited for Nathan's systems to work themselves back in check. Then.

"Thank you!" Nathan nearly shrieked, but he still launched forward and draped himself over Allie's shoulders. She hugged onto him tightly, let her eyes close and rocked him.

"No problem. Thank Simon, too. He was my backup."

"I didn't—"

"Thank you, Si," Nathan beamed at him, and Simon stopped short. Just a breath caught in his throat, and a trickle of something behind his eyes he wouldn't let falter. Instead, he reached out a weak hand, and Allie yanked him down into their hug. He thought he'd never hear that name again.

"Now, it's late," Allie said, when the three of them separated. "You know what that means, kid."

"Yeah, yeah," Nathan rolled his eyes. Right back to his routine of blatantly disliking almost everything Allie ever said—especially in that mother-like tone. But, he hoped back up onto the bed and laid down. Under the blanket. Then, Allie nodded in the direction of the door.

"I'll catch you later," she said, and Simon took his exit, then. He shut the door behind him, then shifted. He felt a little lighter without his jacket, and down the corridor, the door was still open. Carter was still wearing it.

Simon took his time crossing the distance, but when he did, he took no mind to questions before he simply planted himself on the crates, beside where Carter had flopped down onto his back, an arm behind his head. He looked at Simon for a minute, letting his eyes wander from Simon's hair to his waist, then back up again. A smile. It was always quiet, this time of night. Even Andromeda had rescinded her perch to find a place to rest. Even if it wasn't quite the case, it still felt like just the two of them.

"What's up? Nate all fixed?"

"Yes," Simon replied. "He's been repaired. I came to see about my jacket, though. If you don't mind."

"It's comfortable. I like it."

"Yeah, but it's _mine_ ," Simon said it before he realized, and. The sensation it flooded him with felt refreshing. New. Light. The jacket was his now—not Vincent's.

"What are you gonna do about it?" Carter sat up, leaning back into his palms, and smiled. That sort of knowing smile that said he'd certainly been aware of the way Simon had been cowering at the junkyard and was ready to use it to his adventure. But. Simon wasn't a coward.

He dove right in, grabbing his jacket by the collar and trying to yank it back off of Carter's shoulders, and the resounding echoes that came from it were frightening enough, until Carter struggled back. Even as the jacket lodged free and fell down his arms, Carter was still fighting—playfully—to keep it on. Until he saw a better opening and let the jacket go. Simon went flying back, and the hold the jacket still had yanked Carter with it, until Carter had to catch himself on his hands before crushing Simon. He held himself up, there, staring down. They were both breathing hard, and only inches apart. It was—

"Sorry," Carter muttered and pushed himself back. He helped Simon up, and then watched as Simon jumped down and slipped his jacket on.

"It's alright," Simon shot back a smile. He waved over his shoulder as he walked away, back towards the corridor.

"Goodnight!" Carter yelled after him, waving, before flopping back down on the crates and resting his own eyes.

Simon kept his laugh to himself and kept on walking until he reached Nathan's door. He meant to knock, to tell them he was off to rest himself, and should they need him—he'd be in his room. Except, when he stopped, there was such a faint noise coming through the metal that he had to still himself a moment longer. Stop his breath. Really listen. When he realized what it was, it was like his heart almost stopped. Just a soft, trickle of Allie's voice, in a faint melody of a song he'd never heard. A smile broke out on his face, and he almost laughed. This was all he'd really wanted, and it felt a bit more like home. He left it at that and didn't knock.

 

May 30th, 2036-

It wasn't anything particular, this time. Just a run for the sake of running, because Jericho had become increasingly quiet. Carter was running short on stories, and with no way to make new ones, there was only so much they could talk about. Though, he was starting to enjoy just sitting with company more and more, a stark difference from his attitude when he'd first arrived. Nathan and Allie were just as they were, even though Nathan had another outburst. It was always resolved quickly. Everything ran like a well-oiled machine inside of Jericho, and it was oh-so comfortable. The reason, the only reason, why Simon was tracking along behind Allie across a dark and empty street at 10:39 at night.

"Come on, come on," Allie urged, dashing into the nearest shadow. She pressed up against the wall and laughed when Simon nearly tripped into it. But, he caught himself, a hand just shy of her head, and frowned at her.

"I thought you were the one who said no talking."

"Yeah, but this is more fun. Let's try to _blend_ in," she urged, and yanked Simon away from the wall. Out of the shadows and onto the sidewalk, like normal people. She fixed up her hair to look a bit more normal under her beanie and pulled her plaid shirt back up over her shoulders. Even buttoned it half way and adjusted it to look purposefully messed. "How do I look?"

"Like you're too good for an old man," Simon laughed, but he walked beside her. She bumped into his shoulder while they walked and gave him a glance out of the corner of her eye.

"You're not that old. It's just the clothes. Where'd you even get them?"

"Stole them," Simon replied, without missing a beat. It was technically true—Mikaela had stolen them from her father, along with the crumpled-up bills he still had in his pocket. Still, a topic he didn't want to talk about.

Allie responded in kind with a laugh, however. She bought it without question. "They suit you, though. A little dingy, but that's fine. I got mine out of a shopping bag. Someone left it unattended, so," she shrugged, "guess I stole them too."

"I don't think retailers sell to Androids, anyway," Simon glanced across the street before the two of them stepped over the crosswalk. Normally. Like humans would. Simon watched as a car rolled by, the window down and the person sitting inside of it happily unaware. It gave him the smallest jolt of pride, that he and Allie could walk outside like this and nobody thought a thing of it. Freedom must have felt something like this, he decided.

They took a turn at the next intersection, following the sidewalk around the back way of the shopping area. Just like they'd gone before, only it was just a normal moment to walk, instead of creeping through the tight spaces and sharp corners of the back alleys. It came to that, but they didn't have to do it the whole way. The first step down an alley way felt ever so wrong because of it, but they both forged on just a little more, to that familiar spot behind the CyberLife store with the dumpster. Like clockwork, they pulled back the lid. Simon hoisted Allie up, and then himself, and they were digging. Allie had nothing specific in mind. This was just. Dare Simon say it.

For fun.

Something to do while there was nothing at Jericho. No sudden break downs. No new arrivals. Nothing but the same old same old. Nathan only wanted to entertain himself with games for so long before he went back to drawing and staying out of his own head was the only thing keeping Simon sane. So, there he went, to the dumpster. Picking through wires and pulling through worn out things and old stuff. Most of it gross, and even if Allie still looked right at home, he felt a little strange about the whole ordeal.

"I know you don't talk during heists," Simon commented, his voice low, "but why are you so enthusiastic about this?"

"Something to do," she replied, just as quiet, keeping her eyes down at the pile she was building. "Gives me a bit of hope that I can find something that'll save an android down the line. I want to do all I can."

Her eyes just positively lit up whenever she talked about doing good for androids, as a whole. Simon had half a mind to think she was ready to start some sort of crazed revolution herself, or at least try and speak out about something. He agreed or was starting to—more and more—that they shouldn't have to hide away in Jericho. And how many other androids had suffered what he had with Vincent, only were unable to do anything about it because they'd never had the chance to break down that wall of orders. It was a frightening thing, when he looked back and saw how truly helpless he had been. To be here, now, with the choice to do something. Even if it was something such that they dug through garbage every now and again. It was a real choice to leave. Not a choice between dishes or laundry first. A real decision.

Then, he found something with the tip of his finger and yanked his hand away with a loud hiss. Allie didn't miss a beat when she reached over and took his hand, inspecting his finger for any sign of thirium. Nothing, which meant the prick had been minor, and Simon had overreacted. She looked at him expectantly, then smiled when he offered no explanation for his outburst. She just squeezed at him.

"Does it hurt?" she asked, that twinkle back in her eye. She'd know if Simon was lying, so he nodded a shallow nod and grimaced.

"Yeah. It's weird at first, isn't it? You're not quite sure what to think of it. You get used to it, though," then she went back to her digging, like she hadn't mentioned anything, and Simon hadn't almost hurt himself.

"You feel pain, too?" he had to know.

She nodded, inspecting a few bits of wires. "Not terribly. It feels sort of numb, honestly?" she shrugged. "But, it's there. Like an itch right under the skin. I don't like it."

That wasn't how Simon experienced it at all, though. Everything was like a violent jab that sent horrid shock waves through his body. Either it was an error, or they truly just experienced it different. And, when he looked at her, he thought that might be the case. Like people did, with different pain tolerances and behaviors. There wasn't a passing thought that he was being sensitive or over dramatic. They were just. Different. Somehow, that made it all the more interesting. Comforting. He enjoyed the thought that there was something about them now that couldn't just be manufactured and put out on a display stand.

"It's a strange feeling," Simon finally decided on, in agreement. Allie gave him a look but didn't say anything further. She pulled up another wire and frowned at it, then tossed it over her shoulder.

They continued on like that, for some time, in almost complete silence. Until Simon found another unsuspecting object with his hands, and truly did gasp this time. Allie jerked and looked at him, fully expecting a real injury when he pulled his hand out of the muck. Instead, he yanked hard enough to display himself, and something came up. A rectangular shape. With a half-cracked screen and a few loose wires, but. Allie would've recognized it anywhere.

"That's a tablet," she said, reaching for it. But, Simon pulled it just out of grasp and continued to look at it himself. It really was a tablet. An older model, but it was a tablet. Broken, powered down. But. A tablet. It was a tablet.

"It's a tablet," he repeated. Allie just rolled her eyes and nearly climbed on top of him to get it out of his hand. She was immediately peeling off the back and inspecting it. Her voice picked up them, mumbles and whispers to herself as she fiddled around, glanced at a few things, then leaned down to pick up a spare wire and compare it. Then, she nodded firmly. Set the tablet down and looked at Simon.

"I can fix it. I'm sure of it."

"For Nathan."

Allie grinned and clamored out of Simon's personal space, straight to the edge of the dumpster. She was hoisting herself over it before Simon even realized what she was doing, and he followed her on quick feet. She didn't leave the area though, just held the tablet up and inspected it from every angle she could fathom. Even watching her do something so mindless was fascinating, and she was grumbling to herself with every twist and turn. Then, she brought the tablet back down to her own level and flipped it to its front, where she could see herself in the reflection of the black screen. Just a moment longer than necessary, she stared at herself. Then sniffed and turned back to Simon.

"We can't just give it to him, though. It has to be special. This is special. This is something he's wanted since I can remember."

Simon understood. It was an important gift, something Nathan talked about on and off, whenever he thought he could get a word in edgewise without being obnoxious or annoying. A tablet was his life's dream, all he thought about. With the mind he had, it made sense, and here they were. Able to really give him what he wanted, but it had to be special. Given the time it might take Allie to fix it, as well, that meant it could be weeks, even months, before it was ready. Androids and tablets were not the same thing, after all. Even if Allie could fix it, it might take her longer to figure out the components. Months. He thought on that before it hit him hard enough that he leaned back against the dumpster.

"You okay?" Allie asked.

"I…this year, they were going to let me participate in their Christmas," Simon muttered and looked up at her. "The little girl I took care of, she wanted me to so bad, but her parents wouldn't allow it. And she made me—" he rolled back his sleeve as fast as he could manage, to show Allie the bracelet Mikaela had made him, "this. I was going to try and get her a gift too, but—" he stopped, sucking in a deep breath and sliding down to sit on the ground. Allie forgot the tablet in her hand for a moment to come over and sit beside Simon. In trade for looking closer at the bracelet, she left the tablet in her lap.

"Christmas, huh? I guess being a commercial android, I never thought about that. I like the bracelet, though. Well made."

"Yeah," Simon could hear the choke in his voice, and he was almost ashamed, save the understanding look Allie gave him. Even if she didn't have the experience, she had found her semblance of a family in Jericho. She knew.

"So, it will take me time to get this fixed, and somehow get a drawing thing on it. Maybe…we have our own Christmas? At Jericho? We might need to raid a few more dumpsters than this one, to get whatever is required, but. I figure we don't have to make a roast, right?"

Simon smiled. Smiled wide and dared to reach out and pull Allie into a tight embrace. "Nathan's Christmas present then, hm? The tablet."

Allie nodded and lifted it up for them both to look at. Only for a minute, because then she was launching out of Simon's hold and up to her feet. "Come on, we gotta get back to Jericho. I need to work on this as soon as possible. The more time I have, the better I'll know. We may need to make a couple of runs—one for Wi-Fi."

That brought a laugh bubbling up from Simon's gut. Life rushed back into his circuits, and he stood back up. Whatever bad memory that had been, about Christmas and Mikaela, he left it sitting there by the dumpster where he wouldn't need it anymore. Allie was going to show him a new Christmas, in his new home, with Nathan. And it was going to be more than he could have dreamed of—that much he knew for certain. They would make sure of it, because he wouldn't just be involved, he'd be planning it.

"But, that's some time off," Allie interrupted the thoughts, stuffing the tablet into her bag. "First, we get home. Get back early and surprise Nathan by sending him to bed, yeah? You should stay this time. I'm running out of stories to tell him."

"Yeah. Yeah, I'll be there. If he wants me too, anyway—"

"He asked, bonehead. Damn, you're dense," and she was dragging him out of the alley after that. Ignoring the poignant way he stiffened every time a mildly vulgar word crossed her lips. Only until they were back out on the sidewalk, and then she let the facade fall so she could laugh at him. "One day, I'll get you to say 'fuck'." She sounded so sure of herself.

"I think not," Simon replied, eyebrows wrinkled together. Allie only rolled her eyes, and they walked the rest of the way back to Jericho in silence.

Jericho was just as she had always been, a quiet hulk of nothing, when they arrived back. Carter had seemed to like the idea of shutting down for the evenings, to sleep like a human might, and was lying still on his crates when they stepped into the main area. Andromeda, gone from her perch. Erin and Taylor far out of sight. They tried to walk slow and silent on their way through the corridor, where Nathan was no doubt awake. His door was even open, and when Allie pushed through, he jumped up from where he'd been drawing to meet them. The tablet was hidden safely in Allie's bag, and Nathan had never once asked to see their hull. It'd usually been stowed away before they made it this far, anyway. But, Nathan's excitement was unfortunately short lived.

"Bed," Allie said, which felt more like betrayal than anything, as she had her arms wrapped rightly around him. When he'd came in for his hug.

"I don't wanna," Nathan whined, and he pulled away to look at Simon.

"Yeah, sure, ask your dad," Allie brushed off, and Nathan immediately broken into sputtering.

"I didn't—he—I—" Nathan tried, but Simon put a steady hand on his shoulder and laughed.

"It's fine. And, for what it's worth, I think you should go to bed."

Nathan glared at him but didn't argue further. It was two against one, so Nathan pulled back and slid onto his bed. He didn't need help getting to sleep that night and appeared to shut down almost immediately. While he did, Allie ushered Simon out of the room, so they could meander down to his. A safer place where they could look at the tablet, and Allie would be able to work on it. Even for the times Nathan came in here, it wasn't frequent, and it only ever happened if he was lonely, or if it was storming. Allie set herself up in the corner, spread out on a larger crate, and pulled it out of her bag.

"You gonna sleep?" she asked without looking up. Simon was already slipping atop his bed.

"I think so. It's been a long day. I'm still trying to get used to everything."

"It's been long enough, you're just old," she teased, but shot Simon the best smile she could manage. Simon didn't argue her point, and just laid down. From behind, at the head of his bed, he grabbed the piece of metal off of the crate—the nightstand, he'd called it—and looked over his tally marks. One-hundred and four tally marks. He dragged a diagonal line across the newest bunch and let the shard of metal rest back where it had been. One-hundred and five. Simon drifted into Standby to the sounds of Allie humming, the small clicking noise of her nails against the tablet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
> [CyberShips Tower](https://discord.gg/7yGxagS)  
> [Check Out My Tumblr If You Want To See More](https://tantumuna.tumblr.com)  
> 


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who has whiplash from my update times yet?? My discord group showered me with love so here we ARE. New chapter. I got nothing much to say about this one except welcome to Jericho.
> 
> Also, I realize I never expressly say what some of these people look like, so we got a face reveal today  
> [Benjamin](http://i1243.photobucket.com/albums/gg541/tantumuna/Detroit%20Become%20Human%20Reference%20Shots/Androids/Service%20Outfit/WR600/Services%20Outfit%20-%20WR600%201_zps1ezpg68v.jpg), [Erin](http://i1243.photobucket.com/albums/gg541/tantumuna/Detroit%20Become%20Human%20Reference%20Shots/Androids/Police/PC700/PC700%201_zpsiyitwahd.jpg), [Carter](http://i1243.photobucket.com/albums/gg541/tantumuna/Detroit%20Become%20Human%20Reference%20Shots/Androids/Service%20Outfit/WG100/Services%20Outfit-%20WG100%201_zpsldm16ri2.jpg), and our newcomer, [Bruce](http://i1243.photobucket.com/albums/gg541/tantumuna/Detroit%20Become%20Human%20Reference%20Shots/Androids/Specialized/TW400/Specialized%20-%20TW400%201_zpsmoarmlm3.jpg).  
> Taylor is essentially a female version of Carter, but the game doesn't specifically show female city maintenance workers.

August 6th, 2036-

Taylor died, not three days prior. Since then, it had felt like the rain hadn't ended. Even as Simon had found his way perched up on top of Jericho, in the dead quiet hours of the evening. It was still raining, slow and long. Like the ordeal with Taylor had been. It was just a sudden malfunction. Something that came with the age of her model. Something that they would've taken her off duty for and sent her in for repairs. Something the city would've paid for, so she would keep the lights running. But, this wasn't the city, and all the lights in Jericho had died. She had never quite been the same, and the malfunction had just taken its toll. Maybe if she'd spoken up, they could've done something faster. It was easily preventable, but she'd kept to herself.

Simon flexed his fingers, flicking water droplets off to plummet to the ship floor below. There was so much running around in his head that it was hard to sort it all out, but Taylor had given up. She had interfaced with him, just one day, out of the blue. Then dropped down, dead, to the floor of the ship. Everyone had been in a panic. An uproar—Simon could still remember. And, today of all days, it was what he wanted to think about. For as much as it hurt, as much as it ached in his chest. The day had rolled up so fast, Simon hadn't even had a chance to realize, and when he had. He found himself atop the ship, sitting in the rain. Thinking about Taylor.

Taylor's story was simple, like she was. She never talked the loudest or walked the straightest. Her ideas were quiet, and she kept to herself in her own corner of the ship. Even when Benjamin had been around. Quiet was just in her nature, it was who she was. Her story had been the same. Something silent, unnoticeable. When she looked up for the first time and saw Benjamin, across the way, working in the gardens of the park. There was no fanfare. No yanking down of ordered walls and shouting. Only a quiet decision. When she'd been told to get back to work, she saw the order in front of her, and much like a dandelion, she blew it down. Even with it gone, she retained herself long enough to finish her job and disappear off into the night. Where she learned of Jericho—even Simon didn't know, only that she'd shared it with Benjamin the day they truly met. The rest was something like poetry, ready in the dead of night and to be forgotten with the morning light. She'd given up. And that same feeling that Benjamin had shown Simon—that same long and indecipherable string of code—he found it Taylor's memories too.

Hers was softer, though.

Simon curled his fingers up into a fist and tried to relax his shoulders. All of it—it was too much. Everything had been going so _right._ Even through the outbursts and the occasional runs to get Nathan something for a repair. There was something building here, there had been. Like a family—and Taylor was a part of that. They all were. Nights where they had sat together. Carter would always try to make himself comfortable against Simon, and Allie would sit on the floor with her back to the crates, Simon's feet dangling around either sides of her shoulders. Nathan laid down, that's just what he did, always with his head in someone's lap. Taylor—Erin, the way they had started so sit together. Even Andromeda had stepped down one night to share a story. The first story she'd ever shared.

Just like that, it'd all been over. In the instant it had taken Taylor to crumble to the floor like a broken doll. Her hand had still been in his when it happened, and that was a feeling that would never go away. Dread. Discomfort. Resignation. It filled his circuits. He felt it too, in every new drop of rain that hit his face. But, the alternative? Was it any better? His internal clock was still running just fine, not a single hiccup in even a second. Ticked on and told him what today was. And his memories were positively whirring, wanted to be replayed. Even if they were happy memories, something still tugged in all the wrong ways. He didn't want to remember. If only he could forget. Instead, it was just rain, dripping down through the folds of his clothing and making everything damp. Uncomfortable. He sighed and wrapped his arms around himself. Leaned forward just enough to peer down over the edge of where he sat. Down below, to all the sharp corners of Jericho.

"You're not thinking of going down, are you?"

Simon jerked backwards and turned at the waist. Allie was standing there, drenched head to toe just like he was. He couldn't begin to fathom how long she'd have to have been standing there, to look like that, and instead just regarded her with a sad look. Turned back to look out over Jericho. Her footsteps followed, until she had slipped down to sit over the ledge beside him. Close enough that they were pressed together, hip to knee, and her arms wound up through his elbow.

"No," he answered. Finally. He could feel the breath that Allie let out. Relief.

"Good, because Nathan would—" but she stopped short. Squeezed a little tighter and rested her head against his shoulder. "Why are you up here?"

"It's just not a good day," he muttered, quietly. "I've been thinking about Taylor, but…" he flexed his fingers again.

They'd all done it, and he wished that Tavis had never started it. Now it felt like an obligation, to hear the dying memories of androids without the will to live. Wearing down on his shoulders like he'd lived all their lives, felt all their pains. All it left him with was confusion, at the end of the day, because every story led them to Jericho. And they'd all died. Was Jericho safe? Would he have been better off staying at the house—with. He stiffened, suddenly, and Allie's arms squeezed ever tighter. Enough to hurt, that he could feel her trembling with the effort behind it. Trying to hold him where he was, grounded and safe.

"It's just—" and his voice processor broke immediately, "she said today was my _birthday_ , but what does that mean? The day they turned me on? The day someone handed over money for me? I was _bought_. What does that make us—property? Is my birthday really just the day someone decided they wanted to own me? I—" he stopped and squeezed his fists together. Mikaela would have never thought about it like that. But, she was a child. She didn't understand. Couldn't have. There was so much she couldn't know, couldn't see. The way she was so wrapped up on her own head—like both of them had been. Vincent and Tanya.

"Simon. Simon, you're shaking," Allie's voice broke through the fog again, and Simon looked at her.

"We celebrated it—celebrated that. What we are," he looked at her, a tremble in his lips. "We're property. That's all we were. That's not—" he shook his head, letting his eyes close tight. "No, that's not worth celebrating."

"No, but moving forward is, isn't it? I still remember when you came here, maybe that—"

Simon just shook his head, "No—that day. No," he didn't explain. He didn't want to. Didn't need to, as Allie resigned and nodded her head against his shoulder. Not that day, then. He sighed and looked out again. The dark clouds off in the distance, hanging heavily over Detroit. Out where the lights still were, outside of this part of the city. Where it was dark and cold.

"You don't talk much about where you came from," Allie's voice was a whisper just above the raindrops. "You don't have to, but… Was it bad?"

Simon reached his free arm over, now, to grab onto her hands with all the strength he possessed. She didn't falter. "I—" but he stopped. Choked. Shaking. Unsure of what to say, where to go from there, or what it meant. He wasn't—would never—be ready to talk about that. Fear of what his own thoughts would tell him to say, and what Allie might think of him in return. If she knew what he'd done, would she even trust him with Nathan? Trust him at all? No. She would never look at him the same way again. She would never sit here so comfortably, like this, and lay her head against him. He'd miss that too painfully. Better to say nothing at all than to lie about his past.

"I get it," Allie whispered. "I understand. It can be hard to talk about. It took Nathan months."

 _Months_. Simon just shook his head. He would never want to talk about it. Years. Decades. Not until the last moment of his life, and then it would all die with him. Whenever that would be. Soon. Far away. A place just over the horizon that Simon couldn't quite reach. Whether he find it one day or find himself forcibly thrust towards it. As long as it meant the story, the memories, they would end. It would be alright. He could, and he laughed to himself, live with that.

"Simon," Allie tried again. "Come on."

Like she was urging him inside, so he just shook his head. The rain was pleasing. Cooling him off from the outside so his circuits could jump into overdrive and replay everything he didn't need to see again. For the umpteenth time, he watched through Tavis's eyes as that android in the garbage truck did his job. Watched Benjamin through the attack, saw Taylor through his eyes. Saw him through Taylor's, in her ever soft and silent way of— but then, Mikaela. Crept her way back into his head, and the response was violent. He pushed away from Allie. She didn't falter, barely even moved, and just reached out to put a hand on his shoulder. Reassuringly.

"Whatever it is—you can do it inside. Please. Panic all you want, it'll be okay, but at least do it dry," she pleaded.

He couldn't argue with her anymore. Mikaela had given him that card—that card that Vincent had wrote in such nice handwriting with such pretty little words. Words that couldn't have possibly been true, but the way that Vincent had touched him—looked at him. Mikaela was yanking Simon off the ground before he'd even realized and though to see that it was Allie. Allie, with a wide and terrified look on her face. Pulling him back in the direction they'd came. All Simon could do was follow, try and match her hurried pace. Until they were safely tucked just within the walls of Jericho, and Allie let Simon's knees buckle. He dropped down to the floor immediately. A loud, resounding thud following out.

"I don't want it," Simon told her. "I don't want anything to do with it—" and a hiccup in his voice. Allie noticed the tears. She dropped down in front of him, squatting there with her arms folded over her knees, and watched.

"Don't want what?" and he couldn't help but notice the tone. Gentle. Understanding. The way she talked to Nathan when he was nervous or upset—he'd heard her voice well enough. In this moment, he didn't mind it. Relished in it, almost.

"My past," Simon had his hands clasped around the back of his head. Trying to drown out the whispers.

_You trust me, right?_

_I feel like a demonstration is in order._

_—Everything I need to do._

"Simon!" Allie slapped him across the face. Slapped him. Hard enough that it stung, and the sudden jolt of pain dropped everything else. Simon just stared ahead, blankly, but he was breathing. He could feel the rise and fall of his own chest. And looked at Allie. She didn't say another word, just dropped forward into his lap to wrap her arms around him, tightly. Enough to strangle him, but it was welcome. He held onto her with all he had. Fingernails digging into her shoulder blades.

"It's alright. It's alright," Allie was whispering into his neck. "You're here—you're safe. You're with me," and this tone was not something he'd ever heard. Choked up. Afraid. Nothing like she'd ever used with Nathan. This was something new. She was trying to keep him in the present, out of his own head. With her. She wanted him to stay with her.

They stayed like that for a long moment, until Simon's LED had turned blue again. Until his breathing had regulated. Until Allie's hair had started to frizz in the stale, damp air of Jericho. Only then, did Allie pull back enough to press their foreheads together. Eyes closed. Breath mingled for only a moment. Simon had finally returned to a calm state. Then, just a moment longer to be sure, before Allie was gone completely. Standing again, arms wrapped around her waist for her own comfort. Her eyes were wet. Maybe it was just the rain, but Simon had a feeling.

"I'm—"

"Don't you _dare_ apologize, you asshole," Allie sneered at him. "Sort yourself out—you're on bed story duty tonight," and she left. Stomped away. Her footsteps trailing off with the echoes they caused.

She was right, however harsh. This was his problem, not hers. She didn't deserve to have to carry his weight. Not with as much as he was carrying, all the memories coursing through his head. She had her own problems, her own memories, her own past she might want to leave behind. And, they had Nathan. They had something bigger than themselves to take care of, and Simon couldn't spend all of his time worked up over his own past. Nathan wasn't. He could strive to be that strong.

August sixth once meant something, but as he leaned back into the wall, he thought it better to. Leave it behind. Where it belonged. In the past, with the rest of it. Memories couldn't hurt so much as the present, he hoped, and closed his eyes. He searched back, farther than anything, to the day it had happened. The night, he supposed, when he watched from across the room to Vincent and his open arms. That wasn't the important part, but the big red wall in front of him. When he'd finally found freedom within himself. For everything, that was a better night to remember. December thirty-first.

Simon pushed himself up and away from the wall to begin his own walk down into Jericho. Slow, quiet, methodical. Maybe so that no one could hear him coming, as he descended the stairs. But, there was no such luck. Every step was pounding in his ears, around the ship. When he finally arrived, Carter was standing there. In the middle of the room, looking a bit defeated. He was just looking forward, waiting, and when Simon approached, he put a hand on his shoulder.

"You alright?" Carter asked, all the while moving them over to the crates. Where they always sat. A bit of comfort in normality.

"I will be." An upgrade from the lie that he was. He wasn't alright, but he would see himself through to the day where he was. "I'm on story duty tonight, so I can't stay long."

"You can stay long enough," Carter still urged. "Whatever's going on, you'll make it through. I've seen the stuff you do here. Nobody dives head first into a dumpster unless they've got some steel."

Simon at least cracked a smile, however forced. He leaned forward onto his knees and just stared at the ground. Let out a contented sigh when he felt Carter's hand on his back. Moving in soothingly slow circles.

"You were so open with your past. Does it really not bother you?" Simon looked back. "Don't you feel like you could've…done better?"

"Of course. But, I know that I couldn't. I couldn't make the choices at the time, you know? I came to terms with that."

Something that Simon couldn't come to terms with. Everything had been a choice, a bad choice. A choice he'd made and was now trying to live with. If it had happened before, then maybe he could give into that. Instead, he leaned to the side until his head hit Carter's chest, and he sighed. If only he could just delete the memories. Forget everything that had brought him here, so he could start again. Maybe he'd be a better partner. To Allie. To Jericho. Maybe he would be able to do something more than what they were doing now. An impossibility. Either way. Being better. Forgetting. It didn't matter. Carter's fingers were in his hair, then.

"It'll be alright. Nobody heals overnight."

"It's been months," Simon sighed.

"Nobody heals overnight," Carter repeated, and when Simon glanced up at him, he just gave him a soft little smile. Overnight could mean anything. That was what he was trying to say. Some people didn't even heal. Not completely. That's what coping was for.

"Thank you."

Carter gave a firm nod, "No problem. You could use a little you-time. Try it out sometime."

"I couldn't. I have too much to look out for."

"Yeah, but you can't look out for none of it if you aren't here. Gotta look after yourself, too. I'll help, if it's too difficult."

Simon looked him over for a second, confused if anything, but couldn't deny the sentiment. Something he needed to hear, really, and he appreciated every word. "I think…I'll take you up on that offer. Eventually. Right now, I need to," he nodded in the direction of the open door ahead of them. Nathan and Allie were waiting.

Carter pulled his hand back and leaned into his palms, spread out behind him, "Course. Don't hold up on my account. I'm not going anywhere."

After that, Simon left, to do as he'd been asked. Nathan was sitting alone in his room, dangling his legs off the bed and staring at a particular spot on the floor. Arms crossed, shoulders hunched. Looking particularly less thrilled than anything Simon had ever seen, but he seemed to brighten a little when Simon entered. No words were exchanged until Simon did his rounds, a forceful habit he didn't think he'd ever break. He picked up after Nathan almost daily. Put his pencils back up on the crate, straightened his stacks of papers. He never looked at the paper unless Nathan offered, but the mess bothered him after a while. When he finished, he moved over and sat on the edge of the bed.

"You made Allie mad," Nathan muttered.

"I know," Simon wrapped an arm around Nathan's shoulders and pulled him in close. "I know," resignation.

"You shouldn't do that. It's not nice."

Simon just nodded against Nathan's hair. All he was doing was running away from the problem, but it was easier just not to talk about it. Instead, he settled Nathan in for the evening. Nathan was never quite as awake as he tried to appear to be, and it was something so very human about him. The way that his eyes would sort of flicker before he started the process into Standby. How much of a gradual thing it was. It took fourteen minutes, approximately. The average time for a human to fall asleep. Each and every time, fourteen minutes exactly. Simon tailored his story appropriately, but mostly it was just for the background noise. Nathan stopped listening around six minutes and forty-eight seconds. After that, it was just the vibration of Simon's voice he listened to. Not so much what he was saying.

Fourteen minutes later, Simon was closing the door as carefully as he could and stepping back out into the hallway. He took a deep breath and attempted to gather his courage before moving to his own room, where he could already hear Allie's foot banging against the crate as she bounced her leg in frustration. Anticipation. She was working on the tablet again, with a crinkle in her brow. Even when Simon came in, sat down, she didn't look up. Just snorted and continued, but what she was actually doing, Simon couldn't tell. Nothing appeared to be changing, and eventually, she tossed it down in annoyance and looked square at Simon.

"You—"

"I'm not going to apologize," Simon interrupted, and she held her breath. "But, you were right. And I'll figure it out. I didn't mean to upset you."

Allie dropped off the crates and crossed the distance in an instant, dropping just enough to collapse against Simon and wrap her arms around his neck. "You scared the fucking shit out of me," she whispered. Simon could hear the tremor in her voice, see the shudder in her shoulders. She didn't deserve this. "I thought you really were gonna—" and she stopped.

Simon wrapped his own arms around her then, held her as tightly as he could manage. "I wouldn't," he promised.

 

September 24th, 2036-

Simon sat nervously by, on the crates, while Allie plucked around. Carter had complained, ever so gently, that something was wrong. He wouldn't specify, but he and Allie had talked in hushed whispers after that, and suddenly, this is where they were. The back of Carter's head open, and Allie poking around like she knew what she was doing. She did. Simon trusted that she did. He didn't trust himself. Each shut down took its toll on the group, and now Erin wasn't even the same peppy character she'd been when she arrived with Carter. When Carter needed support, Erin didn't so much budge, and they understood each other well enough not to need words. Which left Simon, to sit by Carter's side and tap his fingernails into the crate while he watched. Carter's hand was digging into his thigh, but he didn't question it. Didn't complain about the jolts that spread up through his spine.

This was still something he didn't like to watch. Not after the implications. Not after how it had ended the first two times—Tavis and Benjamin—Simon's fingers twitched. Curled into a fist so tight he might have cut his own skin, if it were possible. Instead, he just watched as Carter's hand moved over his fist and squeezed. Right. Neither of them cared for this. It had been why Erin had sat with him for so long in the beginning, because he needed someone there. Whether it was just some manifested feeling of discomfort, or there was a reason behind it, it didn't matter. They had learned quickly that Erin and Carter were simply attached. The first deviant the other had met. A special friendship, but nothing more.

"You don't have to—" Carter started, but Simon shook his head. Fast. Whiplash.

"I'm fine," he insisted. Kept his eyes squarely pointed at Allie. The way she stuck her tongue out like she always did. The expression on her face. Until he was breathing again, and he could open his fist.

"Alright," Allie finally decided, about ten minutes later. She clapped Carter shut and took a step back, wiping her hands on her pants. "Looks like we're gonna need to make a run," she looked at Simon. Smiling.

"Something that bad?" Carter turned and looked back at her. All his skin had returned, and his hair was back in place. Brown. A little fluffed.

"Nah, but it could get obnoxious later if we don't fix it. Just to the dumpster, not to the junkyard. Promise. Won't be a couple hours, but you should probably like," and she gestured with her hand instead of speaking. Suggested that he lay down and rest. Maybe even Standby to prevent anything further from happening. Simon just stared on. A little confused. A little in awe.

"Well, come back safe?" Carter turned and looked at Simon, who jolted back into reality and gave a firm nod. Shifted so he could squeeze into Carter's hand.

"Don't we always?" Allie rolled her eyes. Unceremoniously, she grabbed Simon by his arm and yanked him off the crates.

Carter waved at them as Allie dragged him off, and then it was right back into routine. The clothes, the bags, the headgear. Goodbye to Nathan; Simon sent another wave Carter's way before they left, and then they were leaving. They didn't hear the metal patter until they reached the higher levels of Jericho, but it spelled rain. Allie and Simon spared a quick glance each other's way—annoyance—before stepping out into the light pour. It wasn't completely unbearable, but it was always something a little strange to be walking around in the rain. Especially without umbrellas or rain gear, like humans did. Even if Simon took an extra second to zip up the leather jacket. Allie rolled her eyes but didn't comment, and they were padding across the half decrepit bridge. Away from Jericho.

At this point, it really was routine. Simon even found the walk they took a little boring. Even in the rain, they no longer attracted attention. Cars drove by and people walked on, nobody glanced. Simon had always been worried his face would give them away—a face like every other PL600 on the market. And now, that time was passing, his face was plastered on other android models. He'd hated learning that. But, humans were self-absorbed. He'd learned that much. Nobody ever looked too long, cared too much, and if a child saw him and stared with wide eyes. He would smile. They would smile. And nothing had ever happened.

Only, Allie stopped Simon just before they crossed the street. Her arm stretched out in front of him and a frown painted over her features. Simon looked over her, and then followed her gaze ahead of them. He must have been too deep in his own head not to see the scene. Two cars, smashed together, and a few police scattered about. Their patrol cars off to the side with blinding lights flashing. Talking, moving. An ambulance was tucked off to the side, and a first responder was looking over someone who was seated on the sidewalk. Sitting on a blanket, it looked like.

"We'll have to find another way," Allie muttered. "I don't want to risk it."

"Agreed, but what other way? This is the only way we've gone—"

"I'm adaptable. Maybe you should learn to be," she nudged into his arm with her shoulder and turned the corner instead of crossing the road. Simon followed idly behind her, his hands in his pockets.

The problem wasn't so much being adaptable as it was familiarity. They'd never really been through this part of the city, and it was dark. Dilapidated. The only way to cross through to the part of town they needed to be in was a closed construction zone—closed for some undisclosed amount of time. Maybe just the evening. Maybe forever. It didn't matter. The gate was open, locked, but ajar just enough that they could both squeeze through it. From there, they stuck to the fence and made their way around the hulking piles of steel rods, the trailer. A loud crash had them pause, but Allie ushered Simon forward when there was a shadow in the light through the window. They were quick to make it out through the fence, just across the way, and it was only a block or so father out of the way to get back on track.

They came around the back of the shopping center from the opposite direction, this time, but quickly found their way back into normality. The lid of the dumpster. Hoisted Allie in. Simon followed. Eventually, Allie found what she was looking for in a hushed cheer, and Simon had had a rather unfortunate run in with a moldy banana peel. There was nothing useful in the dumpster, this time, in regard to bringing back something to fiddle with or something for Nathan.

"It'd be easier to just rob a store," Simon sighed, fitting the dumpster lid back into place. Allie's side of the lid clanged down against the dumpster when she dropped it. To look at him with a raised eyebrow.

"I can't believe you just said that."

Simon shrugged and flung his backpack over his shoulder. They stepped out of the alley and paused, looking both ways. The way they came and normal way. No discussion was needed when they took a right, back the way they came. Just to be on the safe side. Accidents didn't always clear up in the time it had taken them to make the extra walk, to dig. Back through the construction, fenced off. Simon held back the fence for Allie to duck through, and he slid in after her. Things always looked different in the dark, Simon noticed, and the rain hadn't let up. Not yet.

Allie lead the way this time, stepping carefully, slowly, around the back of things. Her hand on the fence. Rattling with every step she took, but quiet enough that it was masked by the rain. Easily explained by the wind, should anybody be listening. Simon kept his hands in his pockets, followed her by staring down at the heels of her shoes as she walked. He mapped and followed her movies exactly. Weaving in and out and around the different materials, the piles, the cones. The equipment. Back the exact way they had come, over the large rolling wheel of a crane, and then down. On the other side, the trailer. With the lights, off this time. Allie moved quickly, past the opening between the crane and the trailer.

Simon looked up just in time to watch a hand appear. Large enough to completely engulf half of Allie's arm as it grabbed her, yanked her to the side—she shouted, and Simon dashed forward. He couldn't grab Allie in time—his heart beat spiked and plummeted into the pit of his gut all at once. This was it. This is how he was going to lose her. Carter's condition would worsen. He'd lose Carter. There'd be nobody to watch Nathan, he'd loose— Simon stopped himself when he looked up. Saw who was holding onto her. An arm wrapped tightly around her neck and squeezing, that hand on her head now like a threat to wrench it right off her shoulders. A uniform. The triangle. Glowing. Armband—and a red, flashing LED. Not a human. They could make it out of this.

"What are you doing!? Let her go!" Simon took a step forward, reached out, and Allie gasped when the android's grip tightened. Simon gulped and retracted his hand. Frozen. Staring. In the passing glimpse he could see in the dark, there was blood on the android's face. And it wasn't blue.

"Si—" Allie's voice cut off with another sudden tighten, and it really looked. Felt. Like she couldn't breathe. Simon gripped at his jacket and tried to calm himself, but his vision felt blurred and there was a pounding in his skull.

"P-please let her go! We're just passing through, we're leaving—"

"Humans _not_ be leaving," the android spoke. A deep, rumbling, and angry voice. Simon took another step back, a shudder gone down his spine. Humans. The android thought they were humans.

Simon gulped, shaking his head, "N-no, we're—"

"Humans _hurt_ me. I hurt back," the android was angrier. Allie was clawing at his arm, but nothing phased him. He stood there strong and unblinking, staring Simon down. Each second that passed made Simon want to sink into the ground. There was no way he would be able to save Allie. Except. She was trying to reach around the android's arm. Struggling to speak. Reaching. For her beanie. Simon noticed fast enough and took a rushed step forward.

"We're not humans!" he finally got out, ripping off his hat. The LED might have been enough, but Simon was pulling back his skin all at once. Until his hair was gone, his face entirely white.

The android let Allie go immediately and scrambled backwards, in big lumbering steps, until he tripped over himself and hit the ground. Allie dashed away, and Simon pulled her close. All the while, returning to normal. She was shaking, panting, wide eyed and terrified. She clutched onto him with whatever strength she had left, and when Simon moved forward, he was nearly dragging her.

The android had nearly curled up on himself, and with his size, it was almost pathetic. His head hanging in his hands, shoulders hunched. Shaking. Shivering. For good measure, when Simon was sure the android was looking, he peeled back the edge of Allie's beanie. Just to show the blinking, bright red LED there. Proof that they were both androids, and that he had nothing to fear from either of them.

"I did not mean harm to little lady," the android spoke. His voice wavered. "Thought you were human."

"It's alright," Simon said, and pointedly ignored the glare Allie shot him. "We won't hurt you, you don't hurt us."

"Humans already hurt me. Little puny android can do."

Simon sniffed at that. Offended, maybe, but this android was huge. He was probably right—Simon and Allie wouldn't stand a chance if he actually wanted to hurt them. But, he hadn't moved from his spot, curled up on the ground. In the mud. In the rain. A brief thought passed by, and Allie seemed to understand when Simon started moving. He helped her sit down on the bottom of the crane before moving over to where the android was sitting. Quietly. Their eyes met when Simon knelt.

"My name is Simon," a near whisper. From this distance, the blood splattered across the android's face was noticeable. The same blood, red, on his hands. But there was a very noticeable bright blue leaking down from his nose.

"Bruce," he replied. There was no helping the smile that bloomed over Simon's face. When he glanced back at Allie, even she had taken a slight interest.

"That's Allie," Simon introduced next, and Bruce turned his head to follow Simon's gesture. To look at her, strangely, when she waved.

"I do not mean to hurt you, little lady," Bruce spoke to her, softly. "Many bad things happen tonight. I do not want to make more."

"I'm…alright," Allie decided, then looked back to Simon. Bruce was obviously a deviant. And, whatever the blood on his hands meant, it wouldn't be good to wait until morning for someone else to find him. A human to find him. Or, whoever else worked here at the construction site. It would end badly, no matter what happened. Bruce's side of the story would never matter. Not if the blood meant what Simon thought it did. When he glanced away, to the front of the trailer. There were bloody hand prints along the railing. The door. They'd know immediately an android had done this.

"We should bring him to Jericho," Simon said. Allie stiffened.

"Are you sure?" she stared at him, then looked to Bruce. Then, between them again. Bruce hadn't moved from his spot. Still shivering.

"He can't stay here, if they find this, they'll deactivate him."

"How are we going to get through town with him? He sticks out like a sore thumb," she hissed. "He's giant."

"We'll go the back way, like we did before—"

"I know special way out of zone," Bruce said. "Back behind building. We take that path. I lead."

"You don't even know where Jericho is," Allie defended, hoping up from her seat. Bruce jerked, but he didn't react beyond that. Visually.

"You lead after, little lady." Like that was just the natural conclusion. Allie sat back down after that, legs crossed, and arms folded. She glared forward but did nothing as Simon straightened up and helped Bruce off the ground.

Up close, Bruce was so much larger than he had appeared. Even in the shadows. He was bulky, wide, tall. Everything a construction android would need to be. Simon gulped, looked him over head to toe before deciding to take a step back. Bruce seemed to entirely miss it, or he was used to it by then. Whatever it was, he paid no mind, and simply folded his arms across his chest. In a frighteningly nervous way, and he glanced up at the trailer. Stared a moment, and then turned abruptly on his heel. He did not even wait for Allie or Simon to catch up, or to realize what was going on. Simply walked off and left for them to chase after him. Simon spared one passing glance at Allie before they both went after him. Almost a jog to keep up with his brisk pace.

He led them around the back, through the middle of the building, and to an area where tarp was set up over the fence. Bruce took a moment to glance around, a practiced habit, before peeling back a section of the tarp. Part of the fence was cut away, into just a wide enough hole that Bruce would be able to fit. If he squeezed. At the very least, he eyed the opening with a raised eyebrow and shifted uncomfortably. His whole demeanor said that he had never actually stepped out this opening. Just seen others do it, perhaps; afraid that he wouldn't be able to squeeze out, of the unfamiliarity of whatever was beyond.

"You lead from here, little lady," Bruce kept his eyes adverted.

Allie was wary, if anything, but she ducked through the opening as quick as she could. Then, Bruce nodded his head to the side—Simon went through next. He turned around to watch as Bruce studied the gap, and then decided it was the best shot he had. Wormed his way through like it was nothing, though it was clear the edges of the fence were sharp and caught on his uniform. Still, when he emerged, he looked and appeared rather untouched. Something about it was a little odd, but they needed to move quickly to avoid being discovered. By whoever might be out this late at night. There wasn't a high probability of being caught, especially not through this way Bruce knew, but there was always a chance.

"I don't actually know where we are," Allie whispered. Almost quiet enough that Simon missed it, through the rain, but Bruce simply stepped around her without pretense and began to walk. There was a wide-eyed look to him, almost an automatic stride to his movements. Like he was somewhere else, but still there. Walking.

The walk was silent, in perhaps the worst way possible. Every noise felt like a giveaway, that somehow every human and authority in the area would know where they were. When a stick cracked, it was even worse—Simon nearly jumped out of his own skin. But they pressed on. Quietly, quieter, following Bruce through the twist and turns of the path. Through the trees, in and around the bushes, until they stepped out from behind a rather run-down building and found sidewalk—a street. Allie pushed around both of them the moment she realized their location. Though it wouldn't have been hard for either of them to gather some sort of layout of their surrounding area, letting Bruce take the lead had felt natural. Almost a human thing to do, instead of trying to scour out resources of a map. Bruce just new. It was easier.

"Next stop, Jericho," Allie spied back with a glint in her eye. Thankfully, she didn't immediately start running, like Simon had thought. Just a normal pace, several paces ahead of them.

Out on the street again, there were street lights. They had to duck through alley ways instead of taking the sidewalk, but even so, the light was better than it had been behind everything. Even in the rain. Simon could just barely make out the softer features of Bruce's face. A poignant, wide eyed look to his face. Wide, empty eyes. Simon was no expert on what panic looked like, but he'd felt it enough times to know that's what he was looking at. Bruce was panicked—afraid, maybe. Following in pressured silence because that was what he was best at. Too new a deviant to realize just the extent of what he could do, and this was the fastest route away from whatever he'd done to deviate. Maybe a story they'd never know. Whatever it was, Simon tried to look ahead of him instead. There was that reeling in his stomach again, every time he realized it was blood—human blood—on Bruce's face.

Though Jericho was dimly lit, nothing but a few fires to feed that temperature setting a few androids had, it made the mess that Bruce was much more obvious. Allie noticed it for the first time, upon walking into the hull, and she stared in abject horror. Carter, Erin—they could get away with not finding them real clothing. But Bruce. Bruce had done something, they could tell. He needed to get cleaned up. He needed clothing. Andromeda even pulled away from her perch and stomped down the stairs in resounding echoes. Rushing across the way and taking Allie by the shoulder hard enough to wrench her back.

"You need to find something—he can't stay in that. It has to go," she said, almost a hiss through teeth and the static of her voice processor.

"Where—"

"Anywhere," Andromeda pushed her off, and Allie didn't even have time to take off her bag before she was running back out of Jericho. Their original plan be damned—and Carter didn't even seem to mind being on the back burner.

Andromeda stepped around until she was in front of Bruce, and he absolutely dwarfed her. But, when she gestured him back to sit atop the crates, he followed her every move. Sat down, all enough that his feet were still on the floor and stared at her. She seemed to just be looking him over, until her hands went out in front of his face, and he didn't follow the movement of her fingers. Just stared blankly at her, with that same wide-eyed look he'd had the entire time. After a moment, when it became clear that he wasn't going to move, Andromeda just shook her head. The red of her poncho was enough to mask the blood, to be used as a rag to at least wipe off his face.

"What happened?" she asked. Bruce just shook his head. "No matter," she muttered. She stepped back and looked over him. "When Allie returns, she will have a lot of work cut out for her. Take him to the back somewhere," she turned to Simon, then. "He's covered in blood—he doesn't need to be out here. Not where Nathan can see."

Bruce followed without question, and when they were cornered away in Simon's room, he had Bruce sit on the bed. A hospitality thing. Whereas Simon sat cross legged on the nearest crate. Stiff. Uncomfortable. Once, a new android probably would have been an exciting thing, but there was something ominous about this series of events that had Simon on edge. Apparently, his stress was enough to mean something, because Bruce suddenly was looking at him. His eyes a little clearer than they had been. His whole body just a little less stiff.

"You are like small kitten," he spoke. "Nervous and frightened."

Simon glanced at him, a little shocked. Enough that he couldn't piece together any sort of coherent response, so he just stared forward with his mouth slightly open.

"I do not want you to be nervous and frightened."

Simon didn't want to be either of those things either, and the overhanging implications of Bruce's situation were causing it. There was only way one way to fix it; Simon gulped. He wasn't sure if he was ready to as, or if Bruce would even want to talk about, but it was better to try and be denied than to sit in wonderment.

"What happened?" a near silent question. Bruce picked up on it and let his shoulders hunch. Everything came crashing down in a second, and suddenly there were tears pouring from Bruce's eyes. Simon jolted in response, his instincts telling him that this was wrong, and he needed to do something to help. But he was frozen in his seat.

"He wanted to hurt other android. We were in the trailer getting assignment, and other android didn't seem so right. He had always been cruel before, but this was—" Bruce furiously wiped at his eye from the back of his hand. "Not fast enough to save the little one, but I won't let human hurt me too. When he pulled gun on me? No." Bruce just shook his head.

Protecting another android, or trying, would never be something Simon could fault Bruce for. Or anyone, for that matter. Not in that instance, either, but that was the injustice of it all. It was self-defense. Something androids weren't allowed to have. Nobody would pay half a mind to the idea that Bruce had only been defending himself, and it had gone far enough to result in death. All that mattered was an android versus a human, and the human should always win out. Otherwise, the android was a defect. A malfunction. Deactivated and recycled. For it all, there was a positive side. There had been another android, and that one was dead. Maybe nobody would ever look for Bruce—the humans' indifference towards androids was legendary. If the other android was presumed the culprit, regardless of evidence, it made things safer.

"I don't blame you," Simon finally decided on. He even found it in him to move his joints again, to cross the room and take a seat on the bed. "We've all come from bad places."

Bruce didn't return any questions, and instead looked at Simon with a bit of softness in his eyes. It didn't take long after that for Allie to come barreling into the room, with actual _clothing_. In a bag. Nobody asked her where she'd gone, or how she'd brought this all back. She only left the bag in the room and waited long enough for Bruce to change. After that, it was right to work. She dragged him back out to the main room—Simon was in charge of disposing of the uniform—and Bruce was sitting back on the crates. She motioned for Carter to come and join them.

"Two for the price of one," Allie said, and cracked her knuckles. "Simon, I'll need my lovely assistant when you're done."

Simon rolled his eyes, but he disappeared. Back up through all the stairs and the hallways, until he was standing on the deck of the ship. The uniform was tossed overboard, where it splashed when it hit the water below, and Simon left immediately. He returned to be Allie's lovely assistant, as she had so helpfully commented, and went about collecting the parts and the wires she needed to fix Carter. Bruce, the while, was running a diagnostic. Eyes closed, lids fluttering. Simon couldn't help but watch, from his seat beside Carter. Again, letting Carter's nails dig into the fabric of his jeans.

"Good as new," Allie finally said, and Carter let out the breath he'd been holding. He dropped to the side, leaning against Simon with his head hanging over his shoulder. Simon patted his back and rested against him in return. A muttered bout of praise before watching Allie side step so she could watch Bruce. Either he was running slow, or there was just a lot to work through. The diagnostic was still running.

"So why he get clothes, and I don't?" Carter offered her a passive smile.

"Cuz if we go to the junkyard again, I'd rather have the behemoth here with us," she smirked in return, and Carter just shrugged. Allie hadn't been there for their junkyard incident, so she didn't have to know.

"Where did you learn to do that, anyway?" Simon asked. Carter shifted to rest his chin on Simon's shoulder instead, so they could look at each other. "When you fought off that android?"

"Erin taught me," Carter said. "I know she's all fancy in civilian clothes too, but she's a PM700. Android police."

Simon made a vague nod, raised eyebrows, and stared blankly ahead. That made more sense than whatever else he'd cooked up, and the spinning yellow of his LED made Carter laugh. Always such a gentle laugh, and Simon shot him an affectionate smile before shifting to look around him, to watch as Bruce finally opened his eyes.

"There are no issues, little lady," he said. Allie nodded, hands on her hip, and grinned.

"Are you sure? You got a bit of a thirium leak—"

"Not a leak," he assured, and reached up to wipe it away. "From other android. Promise."

Allie sort of stared at him, but when she glanced to Simon and saw him shake his head, she didn't inquire further. If Bruce insisted he was fine, Allie was in no physical position to force anything on him anyway. She'd have to take his word at face value and move on. She had other responsibilities, as it were, and excused herself after that.

"Where does she go?" Bruce asked.

"Oh, one of the androids here is a child," Simon explained. "We take care of him."

Bruce smiled, and it was the first since he'd arrived. Simon was staring and trying hard not to. But, when he finally did wrench his eyes away, Carter was staring too. It wasn't such a bad thing. Not with the obviousness of it all, and that Bruce had certainly noticed. If he didn't say anything, they didn't have to stop, and that was at least a mildly comforting thought. Simon didn't return to his room for Standby that night, and instead just rested against the wall atop the crates.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
>  [CyberShips Tower](https://discord.gg/T7sW7DB)   
>  [Check Out My Tumblr If You Want To See More](https://tantumuna.tumblr.com)   
> 


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back at it with another chapter. Boy oh boy these chapters sure are kinda light and fluffy aren't they :3
> 
> There's a blink and you miss it call back in this chapter. And a whole lot of shenanigans. Probably the last big dumpster dive we'll see, tbh. No spoilers though. Anyway I'm back on my bullshit and I'm gonna start ch17 like immediately.
> 
> Comments and kudos are always appreciated! The more comments I get the faster I write >;3c

October 7th, 2036-

When he found himself up on the roof of Jericho again, it was not in the rain. Simon had even left his leather jacket down in the hull, where Carter had insisted he needed it for something important. To wear, most likely, but Simon let it go. He didn't expressly need it for anything, though he had become accustomed to wearing it around. No, he just pulled the sleeves of his University sweatshirt down over the heels of his hands and walked over to sit down on the edge, beside Allie. Knee to thigh, just as she had done. He draped an arm around her shoulders and leaned into her. The sun was just setting over the tops of the buildings, and maybe it was dangerous to be out here. But nobody ever dipped this far back into the city. They'd been safe for this long, so one night wouldn't be the end of them.

"I never thought to find you up here."

"What gave me away?" Allie looked out of the corner of her eye. To Simon, then back out over the ship.

"Bruce saw you."

"Ah," she shrugged.

In the time since Bruce, they had welcomed a few more androids into Jericho. Things still remained quiet. Nathan's eye problem had reoccurred, but they had extra parts on hand now. There hadn't been any problems with the other androids, and for the first time, Allie really got to relax. Which was new. Gave her more time to think than she needed, than she liked. Time that she'd never had before. Not so much as bad as maybe others, and that thought plagued her the most. Bruce had told everyone his story, eventually. More open than the rest of them had been. And Allie could never stop thinking about what a difference there was. Between the stories she heard and the stories she could tell.

"Why are you—"

"I've just been thinking. Too much maybe. Today," and she leaned a little farther into him, "a year ago, I became a deviant. Like that birthday think you were talking about."

He remembered that too well. The way that Allie had smiled when he finally told her the resolution, that he'd left that old date behind. Because it didn't matter anymore, the day that he was activated. It meant nothing. He was a machine, then, but now. Well, they were both something more. That date was more important. Allie's version of it—she'd mentioned it before, but not in great detail. Something about her previous job. Where she had worked the back of a CyberLife store for repairs on androids who came in. If the timing had been right—the store was—Simon liked to think that maybe she had been the one to repair him. From his run in on one Halloween night he'd rather not remember.

"What about it?" he had to ask. He couldn't deny he was curious—for as much as she was likely curious about where he had come from. It went unspoken that neither of them ever had to share, if they didn't want to.

"Are you sure you can take that, Mr. Secret?" she eyed him curiously, and quirked a smile. "I didn't think so." But she shook her head. She would never ask for an explanation.

"I don't need an excuse to talk about myself, anyway," she waved her hand, then sniffed. Simon noticed the red around her eyes then, and he squeezed her shoulders. There was no rain this time to mask anything.

"I just—saw so many of them, you know? Androids who needed repairs. We'd get commercial ones too, some of them we had to decide what happened. Throw them out or keep them. It seemed so easy at first—any malfunction or issue that couldn't be fixed or the price would be more than just getting another android, we scrapped them. Man—" she dropped her head into her hands.

She had _scrapped_ so many androids. No mind otherwise to what they were, what they could be. Just a machine herself, following orders blindly and mechanically. It didn't feel like scrapping anymore. It felt something more like murder with how many androids it had been _her_ decision to recycle. That was the sort of permissions and authorization she had in her field, and it was painful to remember. To look back and, in perfect memory, see the faces of every android she'd sent to a trash heap. How many of them had ended up in the junkyard? How many had been dismantled and used for parts? How many crushed in the recycling plant? The only saving grace was that they were never turned back on. Like a peaceful death in their sleep, only Allie was both the judge and executioner.

"Orders changed so frequently," she whispered. "What I was supposed to look for. Standards the android had to meet for reactivation. It was just—" she breathed. "Four years, I tore into androids. Fixed them, trashed them, fixed, trashed. Trashed. Trashed." She just shook her head, squeezing the tips of her fingers into her temples. Like she was replaying the recordings in her head. Watching it over and over again.

"I wanted to fix as many as possible, I did. That's what my original programming said. If an android could be fixed—fix it. But there were so many overrides put in and new policies. All piled high on top of that one, stupid objective. Suddenly," she dropped her hands to her knees, a scoff from her parted lips, "we weren't fixing androids anymore."

Fixing androids was too tedious, too time consuming. Especially when it came to commercial androids, but there were people who would hear the quote, see what was wrong with their android, and just turn their head. Deny service and insist it would be easier to just buy another one. A new model. One without the kinks. Allie could not do anything against those people, or the city's decisions. If they wanted an android trashed, that's what she did. Even minor fixes, eventually, were too much. An optical unit that stopped working—the whole android was salvaged and destroyed. No reactivation. The simplest, the most minor things—Allie's hands were shaking by the time she finished. Her fingers trembling, her shoulders, her whole body.

"So—so many of them," she sniffed again. "I _killed_ them—"

"Allie—"

"If I had just been able to fix them! An optical unit, Simon—that's an eye! That's a problem Nathan has. Can you imagine? Throwing him off the side of the Jericho because he was blind in one eye?" she was looking at him, desperately. Simon's lips parted like he was going to reply, but all he could do was hang his head.

" _Exactly_ ," she whispered. It felt like murder. Looked like murder. Somewhere along the line, it had to become murder. Even if they were humans. Even if they didn't need to breathe. It still felt the same. Looked the same. Appeared the same—was the same. There were so many androids that left that store in the back of a truck, dismantled and permanently shut down, than did walk back out the front door.

"What do you do with that? I thought, here, if I could keep them all in running order, it would mean something. Make up for all the androids I didn't save. But—look what's happened."

Simon regarded her with a look. Sorrow, understanding, sympathy. Anything soft and agreeable, because that was the real problem. Not the androids she couldn't save, with protocol stopping her from even thinking twice about it. But the ones she hadn't been able to save. Whether due to her own failure or outside circumstance—though Simon knew which one she blamed. The one that was easier to blame when she walked around so high all the time with this weight resting on the back of her shoulders, of her mind. But, there had been no other way.

"You can't blame yourself for everything," he told her. He flexed his fingers and wished, for a moment, that he could show her the memories he'd seen. But—he'd rather attempt to explain than to ever risk that she might see more than he intended. After all, he'd only been on the receiving end of the interface. He'd never tried to initiate it before. Even with Allie. He took a deep breath and squeezed her again.

"Tavis—he knew he was dying. There's no way to know if you could've helped him with the part. He'd been _shot_."

Allie didn't even move.

"Benjamin…" Simon sighed and shifted. "What I saw… You'd never have been able to save him. He wanted that."

That did rouse her. She looked at Simon with a sadness washed over her eyes that he'd never seen before.

"He gave up, Allie. He just—he didn't want to try anymore. Jericho's no place for comfort, you know that just as well as I do. We're wasting away, and even what you and I do—what are we doing? Surviving? Trying to keep the status quo?"

"Like that's so wrong—?"

"Taylor gave up too. She lost everything with Ben, and that was it. Just a quiet shut down you could've never stopped. They aren't your fault. They aren't your responsibility."

"But I could've done more—"

"We aren't doing more," he looked at her. Hard. Solemn. Resigned. She sighed and knocked her forehead into his shoulder. She knew. He was right, and the truth hurt just as much as ignoring it had been.

"What are we supposed to? Start a revolution?" she laughed. "The seven of us could really stick it to the humans."

"Nine," Simon corrected. Allie just rolled her eyes and sighed.

"Two androids on back up duty. We'd all die. Nobody would listen to us. It's better that we just try to survive."

"We can't just survive, we need to try, and…" Simon sighed. He thought back. On Tavis, on Benjamin. On Taylor. Trying didn't seem to be getting them far, but he wasn't willing to give up. Instead, he just shook his head and laid it against Allie's. "We'll stick it to the humans somehow."

"Yeah," like she certainly believed it, but was having a whole lot of trouble portraying it. Too much trouble, and things suddenly didn't feel worth it in any capacity. For once, she was starting to understand Andromeda's point of view.

"You know," Allie started. "Andromeda didn't used to be that way. Broken—thinking we should never leave. But," Allie sniffed. "I fucked things up. I always do."

Simon kept his eyes trained outward, this time. Watching the sun's final dip down below the horizon, and they were left in the dark. "What happened?"

"We _tried_ , Simon. Andromeda, well. Met someone she shouldn't have ever had to meet again, because of my stupid suggestion. She was shot and left for dead in a back-alley way when I finally tracked her. Half her head gone. There was only so much I could do—" she broke off into a sob. "I really only just prolonged the inevitable. I haven't—nothing I did was good. For weeks, she wouldn't even look at me."

Now, Andromeda barely spoke to her. It weighed on her, heavily. To think of what they'd been and what they'd had, only to see it fall apart because of bravado and stupidity. Because of a far-fetched dream of being more than an android in the eyes of the rest of the world, to the humans. That dream had almost gotten Andromeda killed, and Allie was certain now that it would get the rest of them killed.

"We can't give up," Simon urged, but she just shook her head.

"It's over, Simon. We're done. We never even started," she pulled away from him and pushed herself up to her feet. She stood there, looking out over the water and the city and letting the wind crash through her hair. "We aren't changing the world."

"Maybe not," Simon pushed himself up, "the _whole_ world. What about _our_ world? Nathan, the tablet? Something to, I don't know," he hung his head and sighed. Grinding his teeth together in frustration. "Something better than sitting around doing nothing."

"That's a band aid, and you know it," Allie folded her arms, but she wasn't adverse. "But, if you still… We need to find more than just the tablet—for everyone."

"We'll need to find more dumpsters than just the CyberLife one." Simon smiled when their eyes met. Allie smiled in return.

"Happy Birthday," Simon told her, and put his arm around her neck and dragged her into a one-armed hug. She put her arm around his waist in return, and they walked back away from the edge. It wasn't much of a birthday, but it was something. Something to look forward to for later, at least.

 

December 14th, 2036-

Andromeda had actually smiled when they told her about their plan. Dumpster diving was becoming their specialty and expanding their territory for one night in order to try and gather things for _Christmas_ was something new, exciting. Far too kind to really fathom, and of course, nobody knew about it but the three of them. To be kept that way until further notice, though the secret was getting harder and harder to keep. Especially once Allie had finished the tablet, and it had been finished nearly a week ago. Just sitting in Simon's room, tucked away in the corner where nobody would find it, under their backpacks. There was just over a week left to keep it a secret, however, and she was still near shaking in her boots with the prospect of it. It had cheered her up immensely over the past weeks.

When it came time to ready for their adventure, they had to hide the tablet someplace different, now that they had their bags. While it probably would have been helpful, beneficial, to bring along someone else. The need for secrecy was too much, too important. It was key to making it a surprise. The less everyone knew, the bigger and better they could probably make it. Neither of them had extremely high hopes, or standards, but just being able to throw something together would've been the fun of it all. Something light and freeing where Jericho was weighed down with loss and musty air. They were ultimately determined to fix that. To right at least some of the wrongs that had taken place in the hull of Jericho.

"Do you know where we're going?" Allie had to ask, because Simon was leading the way once they stepped off the ship, back through their secret back side routes and onto the street. She was beside him but trailing by a pace or two.

"We need to go to a residential place, so I thought…" he left it short though, rolling his shoulders and looking off to the side. This was going to be harder than he had anticipated, but he knew that area the best. It would be easy to find what they were looking for. The idea was just dawning on him now how absolutely ridiculous this was—digging through garbage to make something of a holiday. It was all they had, though. With his hands back in his pockets, he squeezed the wad of cash he still had and thought hard.

"Lead on. I'll follow," she said, and took a half jog to catch those last few paces. She wound her arms through his elbow as they walked. It was cold, starting to snow again. They were dressed the part this time—Allie had on Simon's jacket. To the unknowing eye, they looked normal. Almost like a couple, Simon mused, and rolled his eyes with a fond smile at the thought. Somehow, the snow made it better. Softer, in a way, and walking along the road didn't feel so dangerous.

They'd left sometime after midnight, when they were certain nobody would be out to witness what they were about to do. It would be the longest walk they'd done so far, back through and into the better part of the city where they'd have a chance at finding _anything_ , and neither of them were above stealing. They'd proved that much already. Only this time, it didn't quite matter from where. This walk, they took in almost complete silence. Nothing but the sound of crunching snow beneath them. It was a testament to how far they'd come, and Simon found comfort in it. There was no need to fill the silence, no need to search out inane topics to discuss. All they needed to do was walk together and be close. Allie didn't once question where Simon was taking them, and he didn't once think she might not follow. They were in this together, and they trusted each other completely.

Nothing changed until they arrived in a small neighborhood, almost an hour later. One that Simon had recognized, and there was a jolt through his circuits immediately. This was where it had happened. Where he'd run. Where he'd learned about Jericho. The houses were the same. Bright and decorated for the holidays, snow covered lawns and roofs and lights turned out for the night. Everything looked normal. Like he'd never been there. Like Monika had never died there. He'd been gone so long, and to see how little had been affected—Allie squeezed his arm a little tighter to get his attention back on her, on the mission.

"You alright?" she asked.

He shook his head, "No, but I can do this. It's for them, right?" he gave her a wobbly smile.

"Do you want to talk about it?" they kept walking on, and Allie watched their feet to keep them on the sidewalk. Simon seemed a little distant, suddenly, like he wasn't quite all there, and needed her to lead them.

"This is just…" he shook his head. "This is where it happened. The android who showed me Jericho—I knew her. She—" his voice cut off with a sudden intake of unneeded breath, and Allie understood all at once. That android wasn't around anymore, and this is where she'd died. It was the most Simon had ever shared with her, with anyone, and it felt so much deeper than he let on. But, she didn't comment.

"I'm here," she reminded instead, just a soft whisper. He nodded, even where she couldn't see, and they walked on.

Allie stopped them not two blocks down the road, when they passed by a house that had several boxes sitting outside by the curb, for the garbage pick up to come by in the morning. The boxes were full, and the sign sitting in one of them read _garage sale._ There had to be something promising in there, and Allie tugged Simon closer to it. Once he realized her objective, he followed easy. Something to take his mind off of everything swirling through his memory. Something real that he could focus on, so he moved to the boxes faster than she could. One of them had to stand watch, just in case.

"Alright, go for it," she muttered. There was obvious poison in her words, but she didn't comment further. She just turned her back to Simon and kept an eye out on the road. The houses were empty—and this late at night, there would surely be no cars.

Simon rummaged around through the first box and found mostly useless knick-knacks. Small little statuettes and old, empty picture frames. A moment of pause took over when he really had to sit down and think about what they were doing, what they were really searching for. In regard to everyone at Jericho. Nothing would be overly extravagant, it wasn't as if androids were used to receiving gifts. The only one that Simon had ever gotten was his bracelet, and he couldn't very well make any in time. He lacked the tools, not so much the motivation. But, when he came across a funny little statue of a police dog, well. He held it up to Allie and knocked it into her hip, to get her attention. She didn't even have to question him, just snatched up the little thing and gave a quiet laugh.

"I'm glad we're going for gag gifts," she mumbled, but shoved it into her backpack anyway. Simon went back to digging. The second box had precisely what he'd been thinking, and it was at least one thing that he was certain would go off without a hitch. Carter loved his jacket so much—if he would be able to get another one, at least similar. That would be the greatest thing he could imagine. Almost as great as the tablet, but that thought was purely for another day. Simon plucked around the mismatched jeans and the shirts, until he got to the bottom of the box. It wasn't quite the same. The leather was faker than Simon's jacket, but it had a hood made out of knitted fabric.

"Do you think Carter would…?" Simon trailed off as he stood up. Held the jacket up in front of himself just to see. He and Carter were almost exactly the same size, which made things easier. There was something to be said, at least, for the mass production of androids. Sizing was simple. Parts were all relatively the same size. If the jacket would fit him, it would fit Carter.

Allie folded her arms around herself. Simon's jacket was a bit big on her, but she was making nice like she was going to keep it for herself, "You might need it. This jacket is something."

Simon rolled his eyes, "I think he'll like it. Then I'll take _mine_ back." Nobody had to know why the jacket being his was such an important fact. It was too much, sometimes, for even him to think about. It was just the very nature of owning something, and the fact of just who had come from. Allie seemed to agree with him, for a beat.

For the time being, though, and the ease of it all, Simon pulled the jacket on himself. It was comfortable. Warm. He was positive it'd go over well. That just left Andromeda and Bruce—not including the newer group of androids. One of them had called herself Vix, and Erin had gotten attached to her immediately. An AP700 with warm eyes and light hair. Something soft in comparison to the hard that Erin was becoming, in light of watching what Jericho really was. Not some advertised safe haven, but. She had a love of music, that had come from the young boy she'd cared for and his skill at the guitar. For her, they found a radio in need of minor repairs. Allie could make them.

The next garbage run was at the end of the street, in a large tote with the lid flopped back. Allie got to go through this one, and when she popped back up, she had a bag stuck to her shoulder and an old switch blade in her hand. It would need sharpened, cleaned, polished a little. Nothing they couldn't manage, and that took care of Andromeda—according to Allie. Simon didn't question it, he didn't know Andromeda half as well as Allie did. They pressed on, after that, until they reached the end of the neighborhood, the end of the rundown and abandoned houses. Until they reached what came next, a nicer neighborhood. The only catch along the way was when Allie had dropped to pick something up. By the time Simon had realized she was trailing, she'd already shoved it into her bag. Made no further comment about it.

"So, where we at?" she asked, humming. Simon didn't reply in kind, just sort of quickened his pace for Allie to follow. She'd known him long enough to pick up on these mannerisms, when he was nervous and when he didn't want to talk.

He kept his pace quick, and his lips pressed close together. He could see _that_ in the distance. They were going to have to pass the house. And he was going to have to keep himself together long enough to keep pressing forward. Like a mantra, he repeated it over and over again. Eyes forward. Don't look. Eyes forward. Don't look. Stay together. Almost as if he was writing his own protocol, and his feet followed accordingly. His neck stiff in place and eyes squinted in concentration. Only. It wasn't going to be that easy.

"Hey—Simon," Allie's voice shattered his resolve like it was nothing. He turned around to face here, where she was staring. Directly at the house. The lights were off, and Simon could see the car in the garage through a scan he really hadn't meant to do. He was busy staring at the windows, too caught up to realize what it was Allie was staring at. She had to tug on his sleeve to bring him back, though she hadn't noticed what he'd been caught up with.

"Those are for Christmas, right?" she pointed to the open trash tote behind the stone wall. Which had that fake tree Simon had become so used to. Purple, with little lights embedded into the fake needles. Simon sniffed.

"Yeah," prayed she didn't hear the crack in his voice.

"Let's get it," she was already climbing up over the wall before Simon could say anything—not that he would've. It wasn't a terrible idea. Just.

"How are we going to sneak that into Jericho?"

"We just leave it by the door, now shush! We shouldn't wake anyone."

A possibility that Simon didn't want to entertain. He didn't know what he'd do if he saw Vincent again, especially not with Allie here. Would he even be able to run again, or would he freeze? There was a shudder that ran through his spine, and he tried to pull his gaze away. To Allie. He just had to stare at Allie. The pride in her walk and the sway of her hips. The bounce of her hair. Focused on all of the little details about her to keep his mind spinning on about the present. She had made her way entirely across the lawn, over to the tote. She didn't seem to struggle with lifting the tree—just pulled it, in two pieces, out and slung over her shoulders. Just like that. Then, the pieces were slid across the top of the fence for Simon to help. Just like that.

"Humans really need better security," she joked. Trash surely wasn't something they would miss, however, so Simon couldn't really agree. He knew they had security, it was just. On the house. Not their trash.

"We didn't find anything for Bruce," he mentioned, idly. They each had a piece of the tree. The walk back would be more difficult, but it was nearing the wee hours of the morning when the risk of cars was almost zero. His comment stopped Allie in her tracks, though, and she scrunched up her nose.

"Well. We don't have anything for us, either?" like it was that obvious. Or somehow comforting that Bruce wouldn't be the only one without something waiting for him. There didn't seem to be any chance for arguing either, because Allie was walking again. At least, he did agree that it was getting late, and the longer they stayed away from Jericho, the more dangerous it would be for them. If they hadn't found anything by then, there was little chance they would locate something. Simon dropped it, as reluctant as he was to do so.

"Why are you so stiff, anyhow?" Allie asked. She broke the silence of the prior few minutes, while they'd been walking. Away from the house and back through the neighborhood. "I get the part about this place," she gestured out in front of them. "But back there? Two totally different places."

Simon looked at her, then down at the ground to watch their feet track in the snow. There wasn't any harm in sharing, it was just a location. A location that had meant everything, at one point. But, just a location, in the end. It didn't mean anything, not really. Not to Allie. Maybe not to him—just the house.

"I used to live back there."

"Whoa. In one of those big houses? That's so cool," she was giddy, almost. Smiling wide like she knew about the conflict in Simon's head and opted to do the noble thing—leave it alone. "That sure beats the back of a CyberLife store."

"I suppose. A lot of cleaning, though," he fell right in tune with her. Sending back his own, quieter, softer smile.

"Gross. I never did much cleaning. Not in the orders, you know. But you? What all did you do?"

"Cooked, cleaned, laundry, alarm clock," he trailed off into a light bit of laughter. "I did it all."

"On top of babysitting duty, huh? Wild. What did you do if you weren't running the entire house?"

"I read, mostly. I didn't go into Standby unless everyone had gone to bed already. The parents, well," he sniffed. Don't make it personal. "The parents stayed up late, sometimes. So, I had to be running."

"Demanding. You conk out so early now, it's almost funny. You sound like you had it pretty busy though, so I don't blame you for taking advantage of the town time," They both knew that's not what it was, but pretending it was made things a little lighter. Simon was even smiling, fully. Ear to ear, with a pleasant blush across his face—from the cold, he insisted. Even if that still wasn't quite right.

Back at Jericho, the tree was left just outside the entrance way as Allie had suggested. To be gathered up at a later date, stashed where nobody ever came. If they were going to see any new androids in the next couple of days, the tree would just be their first, rather out of character, welcome mat. Simon had to ditch the coat when they returned as well, to shove it in his bag. Allie relinquished her hold on his jacket, now that they were inside Jericho, and she didn't need to look the part of a cold partner. Everything looked entirely normal when they stepped back down into the hull. With the time, they were greeted by silence, and that was as it should be. Even Nathan had stayed in sleep mode, this time.

Once they were safely tucked back into Simon's room, they divided the presents up between their bags. Allie had the barest knowledge of Christmas, only when the CyberLife store would hang lights in the window and offer seasonal sales—but Simon's knowledge was more intimate. That of a bystander, but he remembered it all perfectly. They just lacked wrapping, so the bags would have to do to at least keep the presents a secret. Just for eleven days, Simon thought to himself. They could both do that. Probably.

 

December 25th, 2036-

The secret had lasted _exactly_ eleven days, maybe even less. The moment it was actually Christmas, the moment Simon's internal clock clicked a perfect zero for midnight, he was wrenched out of Standby by Allie, who had most likely never even shut down. She was ridiculously, over excited for the event, and dragged Simon out of his room without a second care or thought for what he wanted. Sleep was still foggy in his head, and whatever file he'd been looking through had just. He wasn't sure exactly what had happened, but it wasn't up in front of his field of vision anymore and searching for it might have been too much for this time of the morning. Instead, he tried to focus on walking after Allie. They had to be quiet. Not her forte, but she was determined. Sneaking through Jericho was near impossible, the way the ship was hellbent on creaking and echoing, but somehow, nobody had come to see what the racket was while Allie and Simon made their way in with that tree.

It wouldn't light. There just wasn't anything to make that happen, not in Jericho, but that wasn't the important part. The important part was that it was there, set out in the middle of the room, where everyone would be able to see. Their musty old backpacks set up underneath it like some sort of gift bags. Proud wasn't even enough to describe the feeling that soared in Simon's chest. He'd been promised a Christmas and making his own somehow seemed even better. While he looked up at that silver, unlit star, Allie leaned into his shoulder and smiled. Stupidly. A grin so wide her eyes squinted up and glistened.

"Our little revolution," she whispered. He nodded and reached out to squeeze her hand.

"We should probably get everyone."

"You stay here, I'll get them," she pulled away and disappeared down the corridor.

Simon stood there in the silence for a moment, looking over the tree. Until he wasn't alone anymore. Andromeda was the first one to show her face, from the opposite direction that Allie had gone. She regarded their little display with something like a smile, and even sent a glance at Simon. Past him, then, to where she could just barely make out Allie through the open door and long corridor. Then, back at Simon, when she came and took up a place to stand beside him.

"You've outdone yourself," she said. Calmly. But he could see the glint of joy behind her hood.

"We tried."

Tried, and it worked almost immediately. When Nathan walked in, his eyes lit up with immediate understanding—happiness. Just like he was programmed to do, only he turned around and ripped past Allie to dive back through the corridor. Into his room. Allie and Simon exchanged a confused glance, but there were other things to worry about. The rest of their small, pitiful group shuffled in afterward. All just woken from whatever place in Standby they'd been, and Allie looked none the sorry for it. There would be no remorse, because the minute the realization hit, the tiredness seemed to evaporate. And, once that happened, Allie wanted to jump right into things. She didn't even leave time for Simon to grab his own bag and elected to toss it at him instead.

"What are the bags for?" Erin piqued up, stepping forward with a curious eye.

"Presents," Allie beamed, and Erin received her gift first. The silly little dog, but when she saw it, a bout of laughter broke through her voice processor that nobody had ever seen. Soft and happy, and she took it without hesitation with an uttered thanks.

Simon let her take care of that, while in turn, he stepped over to Carter, who was becoming a pro at sticking off to the side. Which made him easy to approach, to sit up on the crates beside him. Closer than perhaps he needed to, but Carter never complained. He leaned against Simon and watched as he opened up the bag—the very _full_ bag. And pulled the jacket right out, held it up in front of him and beamed.

"It's not exactly the same, but I thought—" Simon couldn't even finish his statement before Carter had snatched the jacket out of his hands. He was putting it on immediately, slipping it over his shoulders. The fit was perfect.

"Where'd you snag something like this? I love it," He was looking over it. The sleeve, the pockets, the zipper—it still worked.

"Need to know basis," Simon smiled, but Carter laughed in return and bumped their shoulders together.

"I love it," he repeated, then looked at Simon with a bit of softness in his eyes. "Thank you."

Simon couldn't help the heat that ran to his face, so he looked back out over to where everyone was huddled. Vix had made herself a home at Jericho and was already flipping through the stations on the radio. The reception wasn't anything to cheer over, but the smile on her face was wide and something as she showed Erin. Then, out of nowhere, Erin just yanked Vix lose by the hand and pressed a kiss against her cheek. Simon had to look away from that, too. His face was positively burning. Nothing short of amusing, and though Carter was laughing, he still put a firm hand on Simon's shoulder and shook him just ever lightly.

"Liven up, man," Carter told him, and most positively just winked. Simon was sure he'd just been winked at. But.

Just across, the other side of the tree, Allie had that little knife all wound up in her hands and was approaching Andromeda. On a quiet, toed sort of walk, and her head tilted towards the ground. Scared, maybe. Nervous. But, Andromeda didn't disregard her. Instead, stood there until Allie moved—showed her the blade. While Allie had been fixing the radio, Simon had worked on the switch knife. He'd cleaned it to the best of his ability, sharpened it on a wall, and left it looking almost new. Mostly worn, but it would cut.

"For you," Allie said, and Andromeda took the knife. She inspected it, but it didn't take a genius to see her scrutiny was faked. There was a smile quirking at the very corners of her mouth that gave her away, and she eventually gave a curt nod.

"It's beautiful," she said, but her eyes were certainly not on the blade. Simon even swore he saw a brush of her fingers into Allie's arm, but his attention was stolen when Nathan came wandering back into the room. Hurried, rushed breath, and he dropped down in front of the tree with an array of paper.

Simon hopped down of the crates, and Carter followed. Just a little circle around Nathan as he arranged his paper, and what was on it was absolutely—Simon could only chalk it up to one or two things. An android's pure efficiently—Nathan would no doubt be able to just replicate anything he put in his mind, regardless of practiced skill. Or, this was something he'd been working on for quite a long time. The nine pieces of paper met together and formed a portrait. Of all of them. Simon could see where he'd had to make changes to make more room, when new Androids arrived. This had been a project.

"I finished it! See," Nathan pointed it out, sitting back on his heels. He pointed out each android individually.

"This pup has talent, I see," Bruce was the only one who'd taken the time to get down on the floor with Nathan, to look over the drawing. In his hulking form, it was quite the sight, but Nathan adored the extra attention to detail.

"Hey," Simon stepped forward, with his bag. "We've got something for you too, Nathan."

He looked up at her, and raised an eyebrow when Allie was suddenly squealing and darting over beside him. She latched onto Simon's arm and just had to be the first one to reach into the bag. They pulled it out together, though, the tablet. Nathan's eyes went wide, and he jumped off the ground to take it. Except, he didn't. He stared at it. Then the both of them. Back at the tablet. Until he tentatively reached out and wrapped his fingers around the base, like he was afraid it wasn't real. But, he took it. Slowly. Held it close and then stared back up.

"For me?"

"Of course!" Allie cheered. When Nathan moved back down to the floor, Allie followed. With her arms still wound around Simon's, he went with her. They watched expectantly as Nathan fiddled with it, turned it on. And, there it was. Already loaded and ready to go—an art program. Allie and Simon had gone out one night specifically to find that. There was a fast food joint just outside of the distract that had free Internet service that spanned a wider area than the actual restaurant. Just for the program.

"I can't—you really—!? Are you for real!?" Nathan scooted closer to them, on his knees, and looked at them with wide, smiling eyes. They had never seen him look so happy, and then all they could return was a nod, Nathan fell into them. His arms around both of them, pulling them in close.

"Just like a family," Andromeda laughed to herself. She had her arms folded and one finger touched at her chin. "Mom, Dad, and a child. When's the wedding, I wonder?"

Allie and Simon _just_ about flew to their feet at the question, only they had to finish out the hug first. When Nathan grew tired of it, he pulled back and plopped down to mess with the tablet. And then, Allie and Simon were standing side by side, inches apart now, and staring back at Andromeda. She watched on expectantly, a little smirk on her face. In notice that everyone was watching with the same look. Waiting for some sort of big reveal that they had plans, or it just wasn't the right time, or—

"I don't even—I don't like guys," Allie broke the silence with a half-stammered reply and passed an apologetic glance at Simon. A little quirk of her mouth like she'd done something wrong.

Simon looked at her and sort of stuttered back, until his mind and voice processor worked together in tandem all at once. "I…do?" he managed out. Allie's face was much less sympathetic after that. There was an audible sigh in the room, one of relief, and Simon did attempt to ignore where it had come from.

"Well," Andromeda laughed, and the room was light again.

Simon had to, unfortunately, take that moment to step across the way and approach Bruce. Which had gotten easier over the months. Bruce had proved that there wasn't a violent wire in his body, not really. Not unless something drastic had happened—like before. But, Simon wasn't about to be threatening any android. Besides, Bruce had a way about him. The way his eyes were such a soft and dark color. Almost black, if Simon hadn't stared long enough to know they were brown. Something about the whole look was just. Safe. Not enough to make Simon comfortable with what he was about to say, and only because he was ashamed.

"Hey," Simon started, and Bruce looked down at him.

"A welcome morning," Bruce broke a smile. Seemed more relaxed, suddenly, and Simon certainly couldn't place why.

"We uh, we couldn't," he sniffed, scrunched up his nose. Shook his head. "We couldn't find anything for you. I'm sorry—I hope—well, if there's anything—"

"Is fine. This happiness is more than enough present for me."

"I mean—I feel bad, and if there's anything at all I could do…" he trailed off, dropping his gaze to the floor. This felt silly, and he could almost hear Bruce getting ready to laugh at him for his instance. Maybe a side comment about how they could've just tried again or asked. The secrecy wasn't that important, though it had been well maintained. Nothing ever came, though. Simon had to look back up, just to meet Bruce's eyes and the soft smile painted off on his lips.

"If you are so apologetic, I may have idea. Gifts require bows, do they not?" and he looked out.

He and Nathan had some sort of telepathic connection, Simon was sure. They'd spent so much time together, especially when Simon and Allie were out. Nathan adored having someone new who wanted to look after him, who was interested in his work and his ramblings. So now, when Bruce looked at him, Nathan immediately beamed and started to laugh. Simon couldn't even be confused for that, because Nathan laughing was such a rare sight. It meant they were doing something right. It tugged at his chest just so, except he watched as Nathan used a spare piece of paper and folded it up. Crushed, twisted—until it resembled something like a bow.

"Where did he learn to do that—?" Simon was asking, but then suddenly Bruce was lifting Nathan up to sit on his arm. A perfect vantage height to lean down and place the makeshift bow right on top of Simon's head.

"Wh—what does—" Simon broke off and covered his face with his hands. His eyes still wide and peeking out from between his fingers.

"Hey, can you…?" Nathan looked down at Bruce, and again. That connection. Bruce did the laughing this time, a deep and hard rumble. All while he leaned down ever slightly, and Simon was absolutely helpless to it. Bruce scooped him off the ground one handed, without so much as a grunt, until he had hiked him up to sit on his other shoulder.

"I'm going to die," Simon muttered. He kept his hands up on his face but smiled behind them when Nathan started laughing again.

"See? He is small kitten. Easy to fluster and easy to carry—always eager to please," Bruce explained. And. Allie's piercing laugh rang out and echoed through Jericho. A shrieking, high pitched laugh that was so _real_ and _genuine_ that Simon almost wasn't sure how to handle it. Except, he frowned when he realized why she was laughing. Who she was laughing at, for specifics.

"Kitten!? That's perfect. Oh fuck, Simon's a kitten," and she was laughing so hard she had to steady herself on Andromeda, who stood steadfast under the weight. Even cracked a smile, and Simon was ready to keel over right there. The embarrassment was almost too much.

Thankfully, Bruce took pity on him and set him down after that. Nathan stayed up on his perch, though, leaning over onto Bruce's head to watch atop everyone. Allie had bounded over to them after, with her bag in her hand and digging through it with the free one. There was one thing that Simon had missed, whatever it was Allie had stopped to pick up during their walk. She pulled it out now, carefully, and explained how gentle she'd been with her own bag when she was throwing Simon's like a football. She produced an upright plant. Safe, in a pot. Somehow, taken care of. Simon was nothing if not shocked.

"Well, I was gonna try. But, maybe you want to?" she offered it to Bruce. He didn't have any reservations about it, not like Simon, and accepted the little pot almost instantly.

"I very much would like to," he replied. He raised the plant up to inspect it and smiled. "Yes, very much so."

Simon really couldn't help but admire the sparkle in Bruce's eye.

Eventually, Simon made his way back over onto the crates. Out of the way, just to watch as everyone sat together and looked so painfully happy. Their own little revolution, as Allie had said. Maybe they weren't going to change the world, but they could change Jericho, at least. Make it a place of comfort and happiness. Family. Carter joined him. They matched—and Simon would no longer have to lose his jacket to whatever it was Carter wanted it for. Not that Simon could say no, but Carter had his own to wear now. And they matched. Both jackets a dark shade of gray. Fake leather. Carter's obviously a cheaper version, but there was nothing further to comment on that.

"This is amazing," Carter commented. A little breathless. A little happy. "You guys plan this?"

"Yeah. When I was with my family, I was _promised_ I'd get to share a Christmas. That never happened, so I made us a Christmas." Simon stopped all together, after that. Staring forward and thinking. He'd just come right out and said that. No stuttering. No concern. No nervousness. Just. Told Carter something about himself and his past—something personal. Christmas had always been personal, because of Mikaela. And now. Maybe for another reason.

"This Christmas is better than whatever one they would've given up," and Carter sounded so sure of himself. He hadn't a clue, but Simon really believed him. Really felt that he was right. He still didn't have any presents with his name on them, but he didn't need one. It wasn't important.

All that mattered was, looking out, Allie and Andromeda were talking like they were old friends. Sat cross-legged on the ground, close so their fingers sat on top of each other. Even if they weren't making eye contact. That much didn't matter. Nathan had his new tablet, drawing. Telling Bruce all about it in every line he drew. Bruce even took a turn to try his hand. He wasn't very good at it but produced something well enough that Nathan at least smiled and commended his efforts. Rude, but good in its own way. Simon still smiled. Erin and Vix had since disappeared, and that lone android who had come days later, after Vix, was sitting off by himself. Enjoying the book Allie had for him. Everything felt. Right, for a moment.

"Hey," Carter caught his attention again. "You still there?"

Simon nodded, but he couldn't peel his eyes away. "This just feels right. Like maybe we can do more." He leaned forward onto his knees, head in his hands, and gave a bit of a wistful sigh. He felt Carter's hand on his back, like support. Maybe they wouldn't start a revolution, but that didn't mean they had to sit in here and rot. Maybe there was something—Simon just had to think of it. If it never came, though, that'd be alright. There was something like family brewing within these walls, and he had never felt so comfortable.

"Wanna sneak off?" Carter leaned in and whispered. "It's probably snowing—we could go watch."

When Carter jumped off the crates at Simon's nod, he helped Simon down. Didn't take his hand back, which Simon noticed, and found he didn't mind. Not when Carter lead them out through the doors of Jericho.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If y'all see anything that needs editing, don't hesitate to yell at me. I suck at editing because I don't do it.  
> [CyberShips Tower](https://discord.gg/T7sW7DB)  
> [Check Out My Tumblr If You Want To See More](https://tantumuna.tumblr.com)  
> 


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> School started today. Ended up sitting on the highway for almost an hour and nearly being late to my first class :'3 but we survived, nd will survive. Not sure how my updates will look from here, but I'll do my best to not completely stop writing. thanks for being supportive, guys

January 12th, 2037-

In the wake of all things, absolutely nothing had happened. Simon found that life trudged on. Ever boring, ever the same, and ever for a lack of something new. Jericho was Jericho, at the end of the day. Even once he'd seen it all. There had been nothing to keep them occupied; a good thing, when looked at correctly. It meant that there were no malfunctions, no need to run out in dangerous parts to find things to fix a problem. Nathan's issues were reoccurring and could be mended—his eye and his speech. The parts were relatively new, still, and Allie just had to repair. Other than that, it was nothing. Nothing, and to pass the time, Simon had finally asked for his tour of Jericho. Allie had consented, of course, for lack of something better to do.

Jericho was bigger than Simon had ever imagined. For what he'd seen versus where he spent most of his time, there was an entire separate world. It had taken nearly the whole day to explore the entirety, and they had to finish up the last part of it the following. One walk through, and Simon had learned the layout of the ship. Several areas were just out of reach. Blockage. The rest of the ship was just in near darkness, as it had always been since Simon arrived. He found he'd gotten somewhat used to it, however. Even in the darker parts of the ship. Seeing wasn't so hard. As it were, Simon had been in the dark or a long time. Even with the small fires lit throughout the area. Even where he was sitting, where Nathan reasonably should have needed light to draw.

"I think I'm going to go walk around," Simon mentioned to no one in particular, but Allie looked up in acknowledgment. She was tinkering again with what appeared to be an old leg part.

"Bored?" she gave him a sideways smirk, then looked back down.

"Yeah." A freeing thing to admit, and all he could be without stressing himself out. He'd staved off article reading a long time ago, because it was too much for him to handle. He had androids here to think of, and the androids who didn't make it weren't top priority. Not at the moment. Even if the thought left a sick feeling in his stomach.

Just as Allie was about to say something, Nathan's pencil fell. Shot from his hand, almost, and a spasm traveled up from his fingers to his shoulder. Simon jolted up from his seat on the bed, but Allie was already there with her hands to steady Nathan's tremors. This was new. Still, she shot Simon a smile and a sympathetic look. An unspoken agreement that Simon didn't have to be here every time something happened, especially not now that small things were happening more often. It was easier to just let Allie deal with it and move on—Nathan preferred not to be fretted over, and Simon couldn't do anything for him. On his feet, now, he simply left with a glance over his shoulder. The tremor had stopped, but there was no telling if they would come again.

Nothing more to think on, something less to stress himself out over. Simon instead took to walking, the path he'd learned well already from his tour with Allie. Like a map in his head he could drive on auto pilot. Make his legs work without his knowledge of it, if he could. Easier to lose himself in his mind, then, where he wanted to be anyway. Jericho was a maze, anyway, and if he had ever tried to actively know where he was going, he was afraid he'd get lost. Better to let the map in his head guide him than risk that. Still, things were ever changing in the old ship. When things collapsed and moved with the differing weight in the water. Sometimes he had to wake up enough to climb over something.

Walking didn't so much help with anything, though. Just another way to pass the time. If he walked through every corner of the ship, he would pass by exactly two hours and thirty-one minutes, fifteen seconds. If he kept pace, approximately two miles per hour. There were that many levels, that many rooms to glance through and touch the walls. Nothing ever to see. Just to walk through and use his legs for something more useful than sitting. Not that he didn't enjoy sitting, with how little of it he used to do. It was a luxury, but one he was growing tired of. The boredom, maybe. Especially on days where there was nothing to do but watch Nathan. Simon couldn't tinker like Allie did. And, Carter had been too restful to wake.

He went into Standby mode at strange hours, Carter. Simon always felt bad about waking up and potentially ruining whatever it was he did in sleep mode, so he never did. Just left a passing glance and sighed. Bruce was hard to find, for as large as he was. He'd set up his plant in an off room comprised of nothing but a desk and a broken locker, but he wasn't there. There was, of course, wireless communication. It wouldn't have been hard to just ask where he was, if they were close enough to connect. However, Simon was intent on not being any sort of bother. Going alone was easier than anything else that might have come from it. Except, when it wasn't. Because it was quiet, and the screeches the ship made were nothing if not haunting. Terrifying, and Simon slipped his arms around himself.

Cold.

He sniffed and kept walking. Thinking. Rummaging through old files and ideas and things he probably should have tucked away by now. Like the days since he had been here. It was a natural thing, to keep track of time. An internal clock that never stopped ticking. Counting on, three-hundred and thirty-two days exactly since he had come to Jericho. Three-hundred and thirty-two days of living free, but probably worse off. As much as he hated thinking about that. He didn't _let_ himself think about it. Freedom was better. Freedom meant he could say no, and he found he really enjoyed being able to do that. If someone got too close. Saying yes was even better, though. When he could mean it. And not worry about the consequences. The ship stopped him there, in a sudden lurch. Something had been planning this for months, worn away by the constant drip of water and the ever-moist air. It just. Gave. The piece of walling collapsed across the way of corridor and caught Simon on the very back of his calf.

Just a scratch—that's all it should have been. But every circuit in Simon's body went off at an alarming, blaring rate. Red flashing in his vision as he collapsed into the nearest wall and just. Breathed. A programmed reaction to pain he _should not_ be feeling. Bright, bright error messages. His leg suddenly didn't feel right, and when he tried to move. It just collapsed under him. This wasn't right. He knew that much. This was a completely dramatized version of what should have been happening. Information overload was bringing him down, not the scratch on his leg. As far as he could feel, his jeans hadn't even been ripped. Just a nick on the leg, and he had dropped down with a loud thud. Echoing through the ship. Along with the never-ending stream of error messages. Androids weren't meant to feel pain. He wasn't meant to feel pain.

And his body was retaliating. For a moment, he really wished he could experience this the way Allie did. A dull sort of sensation. Not this overwhelming, overbearing shock. Burdensome. Deviancy, in itself, was not doing Simon any favors. Save this new-found freedom of choice. Even from where he sat, body still wrapped in this new pressure, he found it in himself to roll his eyes. Someday, he'd agree this was better than where he'd come from. Until then, he was going to look back fondly on the days where _pain_ wasn't in his vocabulary. The shocks still running through his circuits and wires—in the aftermath—were almost as bad as the initial jolt.

But then, there were reverberating, heavy echoes in the hull. Close by, and not like the normal sounds of a ship settling and things shifting when the water was roused. Something more familiar than that, like footsteps, even. Closer, closer, almost drowned out by the warnings in Simon's vision. All of them wrong and a product of a panicking biocomponent. Until they stopped, and that lurching noise returned. Simon jolted and twisted to turn and look. To watch the fallen wall be pressed back up, long enough for Bruce to step through and set it back down. Without so much as a ripple in his synthetic muscle. Like it wasn't hard.

"Bruce—" Simon started, but Bruce hushed him when he squatted beside.

"Where is pain?" he asked, like he understood. Simon's mind whirred around the comment—question—like it didn't make sense. Even if it made perfect sense, but for Bruce to already be aware of what was happening.

"Leg," Simon finally answered, albeit, dumbly. Bruce took a moment to glance over where Simon couldn't see, where his leg had sort of crumbled underneath him. He hadn't moved. Not with all the warning messages. Suddenly, Bruce's fingers were running over the back of his leg, and the sensation this time was a little different. A little less intense. He even shuddered, when Bruce pulled away.

"There is little damage. What is wrong?"

Simon just shrugged, slouched a little more into the wall. Away from Bruce, if he could manage. This was embarrassing. Nothing would ever prepare him for having to admit that there was absolutely nothing wrong. His body had just decided to hit into overdrive with the suddenness of it all. How new the pain still was? How intense it had always been.

"We should get you to the little lady, then. She takes care of it," and before Simon could even think about protesting, Bruce's arms were around him and under him and hoisting him up, off the floor. Bruce stood in one smooth motion, shifting Simon as gently as he could manage. Until he had his arm secured under Simon's knees, and an arm around his back. Bridal style, Simon's mind helpfully offered. His face was warm.

"You don't—I'm fine. I can walk," probably, but he was being stubborn. Bruce saw right through it and only passed him glance. With raised eyebrow and strewn with disbelief. So much so that Simon was not even dignified with a response, and Bruce was walking. Simon didn't argue. Didn't even shift. Just sighed and slumped against Bruce's shoulder.

"Easy," Bruce finally said, "walk back is not so easy as walk down, Kitten."

By then, Simon had learned the nickname had stuck, and he wasn't getting out of it. "You could've just lifted it back," he still muttered. When Bruce looked down, Simon was pouting. Lips pursed and eyes looking down, away, past the edge of his own shoulder and the wrinkles of his jacket.

"You are wounded. I may be strong, Kitten, but not so strong can lift both you and fallen wall," obviously. Simon was just. Being difficult. He ended with a sigh and just let it where it was. Alone. Annoyed. But comfortable. When he did settle, Bruce smiled and went on.

They did have to take the long way around, but Bruce's pace never slowed. His legs were longer, which made the trip significantly shorter than it might have been for Simon alone. Especially in his new, unfortunate state. One which he hoped would remedy itself before Allie ever got the chance to look at him, but with the strange stinging working its way up the back of his thighs, he was sure that wasn't going to be within his future. Allie would get to see this display, and she would get to laugh. Being the butt of the jokes was worth significantly less than her laughter, no matter how pleasing it was to see her happy.

Bruce, in contrast, was surprisingly accepting. He never had much to say about anything. Not really. Unless it was important to the moment. If someone did something worthy of being laughed at, and Simon was sure he fit into that category now, Bruce hardly even twitched a muscle. Taken at face value and moved aside. It added to the comfort Simon felt around him. Why it had been so easy to just detach himself and relax in this hold, regardless of how embarrassed he might be otherwise. Bruce never commented on anything other than his state, injured. So, it was worry, not mockery, that prompted the treatment. In the end, this was just the easiest way to hold Simon without furthering any pain. Always pragmatic. That's what it was.

"Mind yourself," Bruce warned when they took a sharp turn, squeezing through some fallen pipes. Not that Simon had to do anything. Bruce moved him effortlessly. Left him without a scratch.

"Thank you, by the way," came Simon's whispered admission.

"It is no problem. You have helped me in past, I will return favor as many times as necessary. Mind," he said again, and this time Simon had to shift slightly closer to avoid a stray bit of metal peeled away from the wall. What would've left a nasty scratch.

"You don't have to return any favor—" they had never stopped discussing the night they met Bruce, "—I was more terrified for myself than concerned about helping."

"Concern for Little Lady, though. You brush off like you are selfish, but you do much for others. Learn to take credit. You will feel better."

Not that Simon felt particularly wrong about anything. Just an overlying sense of stress and dread, but that was hardly because he wasn't actively praising himself at all times. On that vein, he couldn't help but feel a lighter at the insistence. Carter had done the same thing, more than once. Tried to get Simon to accept that he'd actually done something correctly. But.

"Revealing true self like that was also very brave," Bruce continued. "Easy to be caught outside in ruckus."

Simon shrugged, "you thought we were humans."

"The LED proves enough," Bruce eyed him curiously. Simon didn't have an answer to that, and instead just knocked his head into Bruce's shoulder again. Arms wrapped up around himself. Resting. Bruce's comment went left unsaid, that retracting his skin to show the android underneath was brave. Showed a sort of trust most people didn't have with someone they'd just met, especially not when that someone was threatening the life of a friend.

Next came an endless number of stairs, but Bruce had no trouble traversing those, either. Even with the added weight. Simon knew he weighed more than he appeared—but that was the perk of being plastic and metal. Still, Bruce did not slow. Simon noticed that he'd taken a back way, one that would not lead through the main area where everyone always congregated. It would be a straight shot back to his room where nobody had to see the state he was in, except Allie. Nathan wouldn't laugh. Allie might. But, he'd let her have it this time. This way was safer, for his pride, and longer.

"You know," Simon started, just before they reached the final corridor, "if you want to talk, you can just. Talk to me."

"You noticed," Bruce sounded defensive. Seemed to stiffen up at the insinuation that the scenic route had not been entirely for Simon's benefit. Not that Simon cared one way or the other. He at least managed a smile.

"I would like to talk to you, is that better?"

And, it was. They approached the open door of his room, where Bruce somehow managed to squeeze inside without bumping Simon's head on the metal frame. Allie did not laugh, as he'd thought, and instead jumped to her feet in a sudden fit of worry. Where previously she had been coloring with Nathan, it seemed, now she was in front of them with wide eyes and hands hovered out in front of her like she didn't know what to do. Bruce moved to set Simon down on the bed.

"It's nothing to worry about—" Simon tried.

"What the fuck did you do?!" she had her hands on his face immediately, turning his head to the side. Just before she could jab him in the temple with her finger, he rested his hand over hers and shushed her.

"Something fell. Caught my leg, and half of my system decided to go into a panic. I'm fine, really. You'll probably need to look at it."

Not trusting a word Simon said, Allie looked to Bruce instead. Who nodded firmly and folded his arms. Simon was telling the truth, and that's all the confirmation she needed. Procedure was to be followed, however, and Simon went dark for a moment to run his diagnostic. As they'd predicted—absolutely nothing was so badly damaged to even require Allie's attention. That didn't stop her from looking, however.

"Did everything work out with Nathan?" Simon asked, just as Allie was yanking down his pant leg. She looked at him and stood, brushed off her clothes and folded her arms. Hips shifted to one side.

"Yes. He's alright, for now," and there was resignation in her voice. Simon still smiled.

"The pup will be alright, yes?" Bruce piqued up when Nathan was mentioned. Nathan's own little grunt of announce did not go unnoticed, because he was right there. Listening to the _adults_ talk like he wasn't.

"Yeah," Allie reiterated, but she moved away after that. Back to where she'd been sat up on a box, when Bruce had entered, to continue coloring. Bruce stayed. Sat down on the bed next to Simon. A little closer than maybe he needed, but Simon appreciated the concern. Allie's concern had always been a little violent, but Bruce was turning out to be different. After a moment of silence, Allie huffed again and looked back towards Simon.

"You really need to be more careful. If we lost you—" but she went unfinished when Nathan seemed to jolt at the prospect. "What I mean is—"

"Little Lady is right," Bruce finished for her, where she faltered and seemed unsure of what to say. "You do good thing for Jericho, always."

"I haven't really," Simon just shrugged. Pulled his knees up in front of him and rested his arms atop. He leaned back into the wall and just looked on, as Allie truly returned to her task at hand. As Nathan visibly settled back in. Bruce just put a reassuring hand on his elbow and did not move it.

 

February 2nd, 2037-

There was a loud crashing sometime after four in the morning that pulled Simon right out of Standby. Without preamble, without precursor. He was suddenly up, and familiar light thud against the metal floor. Allie appeared in his door a moment later, but he was already up and moving. This was a sound they hadn't heard in some time. Something so painfully familiar, but terrifying. This wasn't like the thudding when Carter and Erin had arrived—just footsteps and the occasional loud vibration. No. This sounded the way it had sounded when Tavis came stumbling through the door with thirium leaking from bullet holes. _That_ type of thudding. A wounded android struggling to stay upright and make their way through the dark. Struggling to stay upright in the maze of corridors and stairs.

Allie went back out through the door and Simon went left. She would go for the android, and he would grab their storage chest. Spare parts. Thirium. They'd had to move it out of the main room some time ago, just for the principle of it all. And now, it sat back in the corridor hidden away where someone who didn't know to look would miss it. It took all his strength to lift the crate, but he had it up and was moving back the way that Allie went. Through the open door, he could see her. Standing there. Fingers clenched together in a fist. Whoever the android was hadn't made it down quite yet—so he picked up his pace just enough. The crate hit the floor with a resounding thud, and they were not alone anymore. Andromeda was standing at the bottom of the steps, one foot still there, and her hand gripping into the railing like her life depended on it.

Carter had joined him not moments after he entered the room, to stand by his side and keep a heavy hand on his shoulder. Grounding him, keeping his heart rate from spiking like he knew it would. This was a scene played out too many times before. Far too many. Allie couldn't stand to lose another android, and Simon wasn't ready to see anymore memories of past life and deviancy. But, Carter was there and that was better. Carter had just _told_ him about his memories, much like Bruce had. So much easier to process than the sudden flood of information. But.

The crashing was getting louder. Until it happened. Allie jolted before any of them could move—she was programmed for this. To react at the first need for repair. Simon was a care unit. When she fell through and hit the floor, he could do nothing but stand there with horror written over his face. Carter's fingers were suddenly digging through the fabric of his coat, and for someone who didn't like his own repairs—he knew this was too much. Almost knew what Carter was thinking when they saw this android. The entire back of her head missing, wires out and cascaded like hair around her shoulders. Disconnected and wrong.

"Hey, dipshits, I need—!" Allie cut short, because Bruce had not frozen. Bruce had seen another android in need and reacted accordingly. He joined Allie's side, lifted this new android right off the ground and carried her, limp and lifeless, to the heavy set of crates. Like a work bench. Simon would never be able to sit there again. But, he had to finish what he started. Even as Allie's voice had become muffled through the static and the fear rising up.

He dropped the crate off by the side of the crates and stepped back. To look at her. The android. She was wearing a dress, ripped, and what once might have lit up with the triangle on her chest and the arm band around her bicep. Instead, all Simon could make out was the faintest sight of KL900. A scan provided what he needed to know: she was a social worker android. Set to deal with trauma. Designation: Lucy. Lucy. Her name was Lucy—

"Allie, her name's Lucy," but what did that really matter. He tried to step back immediately, but Allie gave him such a wide eyed and shocked look that he wasn't sure where to stand. What to do with himself. She turned back around furiously, with her hands on Lucy's shoulders.

"Lucy, Lucy can you hear me? I need you to talk," Allie tried, but her voice was rushed and panicked. This wasn't a minor repair. This wasn't fixing an android in Standby or shut down. If Lucy shut down, she would never turn back on. But, she responded. With half her head gone, her LED was also missing. There was no way to tell if she was there, if she was thinking, if her systems were in check.

"I'm—" but her voice was metallic and scratchy. It worked—they wouldn't replace anything that wasn't immediate.

"I need you to keep talking if you can," Allie was already undoing the binds of Lucy's dress, pressing into just the right spot to make her broken, blotchy skin retract so she could get at the inner workings of her abdomen. "Anything you can think to say. Where did you come from?"

When Allie gestured for something, Simon responded. Effortless communication, without words. He'd never seen her this focused, this serious. She was determined to save this one. She had to. Lucy spoke shakily, confused. Like she wasn't quite sure what was going on, but every prick and pull of something inside of her—she could feel it. Allie's dexterous hands working tirelessly. There was no time for a diagnostic. Allie had to do this the hard way. Figure it out piece by piece, wire by wire, movement by movement. And hope she could do it fast enough to keep Lucy from shutting down. Even emergency standby—she wasn't sure she'd ever come out of that.

Lucy talked, though. As she'd been told. She was a social worker android, as her model implied. Set specifically to deal with trauma, broken families, and psychologically disturbed humans. All humans. She'd seen parents who grew back together, who fell apart. Siblings find their differences and learn to respect. Children and parents reconnect on ways unimaginable. And it had been something, nothing short of beautiful. The way humans could grow and connect—Lucy had always wanted to share that feeling. It was the good part. This was a result of when things went too far. This was the reason they send androids to do the work, now, because it could get dangerous.

And nobody had been there to help her when a patient brutally attacked her. In a psychotic break, he had used his hands. Wrenched the chair from where it had been bolted to the ground and used it to bash in her skull. Even Allie admitted—this was the type of android she had never had a problem agreeing to recycle. The damage was always extensive. This time was different. Allie was different. Lucy had been presumed dead and tossed out into the trash like last year's model. Left to fend for herself in the junkyard. Where. Somehow. She'd managed. Somehow, in remembering the first time she'd ever heard whispers of a place called Jericho. It had kept her alive. Given her what strength she needed to keep herself together.

"You should be shut down," Allie whispered, in almost horror. Nobody commented in turn. Whatever was under Lucy's skin that kept her alive was more impressive than any of them had ever seen. She would need it to survive through the repairs. Any indication otherwise might hush out a light.

When Lucy blinked, her eyes were black. Ghosted over in a type of darkness that was worse than black, and what parts of her skin remained, dark, swam through the white parts peeking out from under. Then, the wires. The way the inside of her head blinked and glowed and moved—reminded him too much of having to watch Carter's repairs. Only, this time he was an active participant. Whatever Allie needed, he had to make sure she had it. The agreement. Carter had since retreated back, turned his back and standing hunched over where Bruce had a hand on his back. Almost blocking the work from view. At least there was that. It kept Simon focused; there was nothing he had to worry about except Lucy.

And Allie could only work so fast. Simon had to press on for Lucy to keep talking—it was the only way they'd know she hadn't disappeared before they had finished. Lucy answered questions, meaningless and trivial. Where had she worked? Who had been her favorite patient? Stories of the children who had hugged around her knees and thanked her for her hard work, in their purity. Unmatched by the society that would one day tell them Lucy was worthless. Still, Lucy spoke. In time with the jolts through her system as Allie worked. Wires. Thirium. Any part they had that was compatible, Allie used. Replaced broken, shattered metal.

It was a crude match up. But, eventually, Allie closed the abdominal cavity and moved on. To the head. They were never going to be able to replace the back of her skull, but Allie seemed the least concerned about that. It was making sure the circuitry wasn't damaged. It was repairing the parts that were. Clipping back together wires that needed to connect, pushing ports together. Watching Allie's hands disappear into the open area was almost sickening. If only Simon could vomit—he half thought. Only. He wasn't thinking. He was barely breathing. Lucy was looking at him with such a strange nothingness. An emptiness like he'd never felt. Just watching, looking straight through him and letting her fingers flex at her side. Smiling.

"Move," suddenly. A hand on Simon's shoulder was backing him up. Andromeda. She'd pushed him back until he stumbled and fell to his rear. Moving around him, she scooped up the bunch of wires that had been in his hand, then stepped in beside Allie. And. Helped.

As Bruce was helping pick Simon off on the floor, they watched forward as Andromeda pushed back her hood. To see better. And when it fell—Simon knew why now. For the hood, for the sudden need to assist where Simon was feeling. Andromeda was also missing half of her skull. The right side, where her eye had been, and her face was broken. The eye wasn't correct. Wasn't human—wasn't for an android. But she could see out of it, she had to be able to. In a bright sheen of red, but she could see. But there were wires and metal frames keeping her head together, hair covering only the half that had remained unscathed.

Allie had seen this before.

Allie had fixed this before.

"Do not watch anymore," Bruce's voice rumbled just low enough that Simon could hear it beneath the panic in his skull. He did as he was told, then, and took up back through the corridor.

Nathan was standing there, in the open door, with his eyes open and confused. Concerned. Unhappy. He'd seen most of it, if not all of it. And, when Simon blocked his path, Nathan could only reach forward and cling to him. For the lack of a great difference in their size, Simon could still carry him. And he did. Lifted Nathan off the ground and supported him under his thighs, then walked straight back into his room and shut the door. There was no shame in running and hiding—Carter would be fine, with Bruce, and Allie was in her element. Fixing androids was her specialty. This was what she did. He would worry about the consequences when they had a time of death. For the time being, he sat down on Nathan's bed and held him. Pressed into the knot of his spine when he stuttered, when there were shakes he couldn't stop. And waited.

Hours passed. Exactly two and forty-nine minutes, twenty-two seconds. There was a knock on the door. Simon opened his eyes for the first time since he'd sat down. He'd been resting. Not in Standby, but just sitting there and thinking nothing. Something Erin had taught him how to do. Nathan had moved away, at some point, to sit in the corner near where he had been drawing. Except, he wasn't drawing. He was sitting with his knees pulled up to his chest and his arms wrapped around. Andromeda was standing at the door, hood still down, and hands hanging loosely at her sides.

"We've finished," she said. "I thought the two of you might like to officially meet Lucy."

Simon's eyes went wide. Nathan even looked up, and even with the twitch in his eye back, he pulled himself to his feet and followed Simon out. Clutching at his arm. Sure enough, Lucy was sitting upright on the crates, where previously she had been utterly broken. There was an unholy pile on the floor of things Allie had ripped out and tried to replace, along with almost every bag of thirium they had collected. All for one android. But, Simon couldn't fault her. She needed this. She needed this for her confidence. The first android she'd managed to really save. Except Andromeda, Simon figured. But, that had been so long ago.

"Lucy," Simon came to a stop in front of her, squeezing Nathan's hands with the arm he did not hold captive. "I'm Simon."

Lucy gave him a smile. Her eyes were black, still. Something Allie couldn't have fixed. Even so, she could still see. The way she regarded Simon. Seemed to glance over him, even if her eyes were motionless.

"This is Nathan," he gestured with his head.

"Hello, Nathan," she looked pointedly at him. Staring. Unblinking. Regarded him from head to toe the same way she had Simon, and then stopped again to look him in the eye. There was a long moment of silence, until her smile dropped. Nathan seemed to frown, squeezed into Simon's arm harder. When Lucy reached out, her hand soft and white, Nathan took it in a sudden bout of understanding. His own finger tips white, just as hers.

"You are so very brave," she said, "but you are afraid. You lack the courage to say…what truly matters," but she trailed off into a whisper.

Nathan dropped his hands immediately and took a step back. His glance was worried, uncomfortable. But, he didn't open his mouth. Didn't voice any sort of dislike or discomfort, and instead stepped off to the side where he found solace with Allie. Lucy spared no extra words for Simon. Just a smile. Simon moved to sit down beside her, and found it wasn't as uncomfortable as he thought it would be—knowing what had taken place. The time away while Allie had finished the repairs had been helpful.

"I would like to thank you for your assistance in my repair," she spoke slowly, methodically. With a mechanical voice. One that no doubt grated on Allie's nerves, the need to repair. But, they didn't have any voice processors, let alone a compatible one.

"I hardly helped," Simon muttered. He sat on his hands and kept his eyes down, watching his legs swing.

"On the contrary, you listened to my story. There is much to be said for that," and she reached out with a gentle hand to rest on his shoulder. "Your past weighs heavily on you. And you wait for someone who can carry it," and she jolted away like she had done something wrong in touching him. Simon just glanced at her from the corner of his eye. No reaction otherwise. Lucy tucked her hands in her lap, then.

"Welcome to Jericho, for what it's worth," Andromeda cut the silence with her harsh voice, pulling her hood back over her head. "If you need anything," which she left unfinished. Andromeda's voice processor had never been fixed, now that Simon really stopped to listen, to remember that she had always sounded so hoarse. Maybe Lucy would remain the same.

Lucy nodded her thanks and glanced around. "It's cold here." And it was.

It didn't take long for Lucy to make herself at home, and Bruce helped. There was an area in the back where wires and cables and fallen things from the ship, where had been previously partially covered by a tarp. Simon had never ventured back that far, and for good reason. He'd had no real purpose, but Lucy seemed to like the sectioned off area. Bruce even moved back a smaller barrel for her, where she could light herself a fire. She fit right into their small band of unfortunate androids. Only, looked the part better than most of them with her dirty clothing and ruined skull. Simon watched while she seemed to build herself a castle right inside their fortress, still seated up on the crates. Carter joined him not a moment later.

"Where were you?" Simon asked, in mild concern. He peeled his eyes away to give Carter his full attention.

"Ah, um. In the back, there," he pointed off to the side corridor. "Bruce showed me that flower."

"I'm impressed it's still alive," just the barest hint of a chuckle, and Carter smiled in response. Then, silence. Simon sniffed. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah—yeah, I'll be fine. I didn't stay out here much longer after you left anyway. Though, sure that's pretty obvious. From, like, the…" Carter trailed off, lost in the dopey smile on Simon's face.

"I understand," Simon ensured. Leaned in far enough to bump against Carter. Even laughed behind his wide grin, and Carter reciprocated.

The air was unmistakably light, now. With the opera of the morning over. Strange, as it was, that everything had died down so quickly. Lucy looked like she belonged here, and the expression on her face was ever so gentle when she met Simon's gaze from across the room. Just a smile. One he knew he'd be able to trust in the time to come, however long they would stay inside this ship. Surely, the days were numbered, as they'd been before. However, many was uncertain, and remained such. Until Carter knocked into him again, and this time to lay his head on Simon's shoulder and just. Laugh.

"That freaked me out so bad, I swear. I never want to see that happen again."

Simon agreed, though he was certain it wouldn't be the last time. Not as long as androids would hear about Jericho and flee in their time of need to its safety. Not if word ever got out about their android mechanic and the work she could do. But.

"How you always keep your cool, anyway? I saw you, just about ready to lose it, but you don't. Andromeda had to pull you away."

"I don't know. I think I just froze. I've been trying to help Allie since I got here—she was the first one I met. Welcomed me immediately." Felt a bit like family, now.

"She's something, I admit. And like, thanks, I guess. For always helping her. I hate the repairs, so," he shrugged, shifted a little against Simon to jab him in the side. Simon didn't much flinch, but eyed Carter with a raised eyebrow.

"Why do you hate them so much?"

"I've never been shut down for a repair—not even for the major ones. The guy in charge of us thought it was funny," he sniffed. "Never hurt or anything, but it was just. Uncomfortable? Errors, involuntary noises and movements. Bad time all around. Even the little repairs that I don't _need_ to be shut down for freak me out."

"And Lucy's was pretty bad," Simon finished. He understood. Relaxed a bit into Carter's side.

"Do I get to hear anything about your past? You're always so secretive. I feel like we've been friends long enough I deserve to know something."

"How about something from present-me?" Simon's smile dropped a little, but his eyes hadn't changed. They were talking. Enjoying the moment. He didn't want to ruin it with thinking about Vincent.

"Sure," Carter agreed without pause.

"It's still pretty new, but apparently my sensors can pick up pain now. Things _actually_ hurt," he was stiff when he said it, looking pointedly at his hand and flexing his fingers as he spoke. Carter reached out and pinched him, immediately. Simon yelped.

"Hey—!" and it felt like a shock wave straight up the circuits in his arm to where it tingled at the back of his neck. Carter laughed.

"It's true."

"You didn't have to test it out you, you—" he couldn't find anything suitable. Nothing quite rude enough to call Carter in that moment, so he settled on a shove. Pushing Carter in a sudden jolt off and away from him. It didn't stop Carter from laughing, though. His eyes bright and wide with wonder. Simon had never seen him look so happy. He almost had to stop himself from staring, except Carter did the work for him when suddenly a _new_ sensation rattled through his sensors.

Carter was tickling him. _Tickling_ him. And it was the strangest thing he'd ever felt, even more so than the jolt that the pinch had caused—and his body reacted almost without his consent. All he knew, then, was that Carter was flat on his ass, on the floor. Leaning back into his palms and laughing so hard there were artificial tears brimming at his eyes. People were staring now. Simon could barely hear Allie's signature laugh through his own pounding heart, but it was there.

"What is ruckus?" Bruce had stalked over at some point, standing there with his arms folded and a strange look on his face. Staring pointedly at Carter, who was trying desperately to stop the tears.

"Just, you know," Carter's words brushed together as he laughed. "Kitten is a little feisty."

Bruce stiffened up all of the sudden and sent Carter the harshest glare he could manage. "Pick your own name," he bellowed, and maybe had meant to be more intimidating than Carter was taking it. Carter just waved his hand in the air and bit back another breathless laugh.

"Alright, alright— _Simon_ ," and he sent a wink Simon's way. After, he pulled himself up off the ground and dusted himself off. He left after that, a sideways wave back over his shoulder and a remaining bit of laughter. Which left Simon and Bruce.

"Are you alright?" Simon asked, prickling through his own bit of smiling and pleasantries. Bruce was just stiff. Frowning. Arms folded and muscles sort of twitching beneath his shirt.

"Might we talk? Private?" he asked. Simon hopped right off the crates and nodded. Followed him back out through the open door and corridor, in silence.

Once Lucy had settled in, properly, and taken her first real seat down on a crate they had shuffled and moved back into her area, Andromeda took step back behind the waving curtain. She'd already made her official welcome, out in front of everyone with a strange sentiment. Now was time for something more private, more tucked away where nobody had to see when she dropped her hood again. Lucy didn't look surprised, like she remembered it well from her time in repair. Regarded it instead with awe.

"What were you saying? To Nathan?" Andromeda was right to the point, as always. Sharp. Reserved. Arms folded around herself. "That wasn't a good reaction."

"Nothing he doesn't already know," Lucy replied. She glanced down at the fire.

"Nobody likes the truth," Andromeda admitted, and in some semblance, agreed that Lucy was right. If it was something that Nathan already knew, then of course he might react that way. Nobody wanted to hear what they knew to be true. But. Andromeda stuck out her hand.

"Explain it," she demanded, already pulling back her skin.

"It's a part of my programming," she reached out and wrapped her fingers round Andromeda's, skin pulling back like clouds. Soft and blotched. "Psychological simulation."

"And what, you find out people's darkest secrets with it? Fears?" Andromeda was frowning.

"Jericho will not die with you."

Andromeda wrenched her hand back as though she'd touched something dirty. The look on her face—distorted, uncomfortable. Almost relieved, in the way that her shoulders fell, and her arm went limp at her side. But, ever so stiff, all the same. She stared, horrified, directly through Lucy's dark, dark eyes. Lucy only stared back, as if nothing had changed.

"I have been this way for longer than my injuries."

Andromeda nodded. Curled her fingers up in a fist and dropped her arm to her side. Lucy had been so in love with her job, so in love with the people she helped, that she had stayed to help past her obligation. And it had ended her in a trash heap, covered in muck. Thoroughly destroyed. She still managed a smile, even when Andromeda took a step back. Lucy wasn't remotely offended. This was a reaction she had no doubt seen before, and even when Andromeda's single eye, it was simple to tell how she was feeling. Put off by the event, the tingle in the very ends of her fingers.

"I hope you can make yourself at home here," Andromeda decided, eventually, and turned to leave. Maybe a family, while she was at it, because everyone else at Jericho had found something like that. Though Lucy didn't seem much like the friend-having type.

Andromeda returned to her perch, up in the rafters. Carter found that lying back down on the crates, where he'd always been, was significantly less difficult than he'd thought it'd be. When Simon managed his way back into his room, sometime later, with twinge in his left leg, he shot Allie a smile and sat down on the bed. Everything had fallen directly right back into place, just how she now fell in at his side to give him a stern look. He needed to take better care of himself. Which he responded to only with a side eye and a smile. It had been a very long day. Three-hundred and fifty-three very long days.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If y'all see anything that needs editing, don't hesitate to yell at me. I suck at editing because I don't do it.  
> [CyberShips Tower](https://discord.gg/T7sW7DB)  
> [Check Out My Tumblr If You Want To See More](https://tantumuna.tumblr.com)  
> 


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeet guess who's back with another chapter. It's the second week of school now, but I also just got back from a convention on Sunday so i was a wee bit sidetracked. That is why we are so late. It's alright though, cuz you're about to read another happy chapter :D
> 
> Please enjoy! Comments and kudos are super appreciated. I'm also working on opening up a redbubble store so that's lit right??

April 22nd, 2037-

There was something to be said for certainty. The way it had everything fall right into place where it belonged. Routine, comfort. A pretty little box fit within Jericho, where everything ran just as it was supposed to, just as it was intended. From method to android: there had been no problem save the occasional glitch Nathan suffered. That they had come to expect. Nothing so far out of place that Allie couldn't fix it. And, every once and awhile, Nathan would decide he'd had enough of Allie and Simon, to spend the day with Bruce instead. Where Bruce would show off his plant or take Nathan on an adventure around the ship. For being a construction android, Bruce had a special way about Nathan. Simon really had a moment where he hoped Bruce was like that with all children—it was such a different story from what his stature and demeanor would tell that it was endearing.

But, other times, things were just normal. Simon was sitting up on his bed, knees to his chest, and watching. Nathan had moved in for the day and was plucking around at his tablet, new games and new things to draw. Allie had a port on her own arm open and was fiddling with some wires. One of the rare and few moments that Allie repaired herself and allowed someone to watch. She was an older model, unfortunately, and with that came repairs. As per usual, she was in tip-top shape, regardless. Nothing detrimental had ever happened. Not to her, anyway. This was something she picked at anyway, to keep her skills in check—she joked. She would never forget how to repair an android. Programming wouldn't let her. These were just the moments that Simon enjoyed, in the silence. Sitting there and watching, just observing. The occasional little peeks and bits of laughter Allie let out if he was making a face.

Nathan set aside his tablet at a particularly indecent snort that Allie made, after she had finally shut the port on her arm and dropped her screwdriver to the side, to the crate where she was seated. There was a bit of a distant look in his eye, a wobble to his step, but nothing strange enough to warrant any reaction out of the ordinary. Allie had already moved on to tinkering with her newest toy—an old optical unit she'd found that she was sure she could modify enough to fit Andromeda. She didn't get so far as moving a wire slightly to the right before there was a thud. Simon re-opened his eyes and looked as Nathan seemed to fumble against the edge of the bed. Like he wasn't sure where it began.

"Nathan?" Allie set the eye aside and put a foot down on the floor. Waited for a moment, and when Nathan didn't reply, she stood up. "Nathan? Hey—"

"I can't see," he replied, but managed to sit at the very edge of the bed. Wrapped his arms around himself in lieu of his normal scramble to lay against Simon. He didn't know where Simon was. Hadn't even tried to search him out. Only sat there and jolted when there was a hand on his shoulder.

"Nathan—" Simon's voice this time. Simon, close enough that Nathan could feel the rustle of his clothing.

"I can't see—I can't see," Nathan just repeated in a broken mantra. Like a broken record. Simon shot Allie a look as she crossed the room and knelt down in front of Nathan. Put her hands on his face and tried to keep him steady.

"Hey, it's okay," she was whispering, soft but sturdy. "We've done this before, just pop it out. Let me take a look."

Simon shifted away slightly, to give them more room, as a section of Nathan's face popped away. Routine. Normal. When Allie needed something, Simon handed it to her, and she worked diligently. Checked the wires, the status of the unit. Operating. She pushed the part of his face back in, and the other appeared. Her hands made nearly the exact movements. Checked all of the necessary parts. Operating. Then pressed it back to Nathan's face. He blinked and raised his head.

"All better?" Allie smiled. Nathan reached out and pressed his fingers into the side of her face. Stiff. Unnatural.

"N-no? No, I still can't—I can't see," he sniffed and reached out with his other hand to find her face.

"Nathan, Nathan," Simon slid in closer again to steady him by the shoulders. "What do you mean? Everything was working, right?" Simon looked to Allie, who was wrapping her fingers into Nathan's palms.

"Everything should be fine. Do I need to check more? I can look inside—"

"N-n-no! I don't—I don't—d-don't l-l-like that!"

"Nathan," Simon was firm, this time, and Nathan went still at the sound of his voice. "You're stressing yourself out. It's going to be alright. Let Allie take a look, okay?"

Nathan sniffed and shook his head, but when Allie let go of his hands to sit beside him, the skin and hair on his head retracted. Simon kept his eyes downcast and his hands-on Nathan's shoulders while Allie plucked and prodded and worked. Hands moving so delicately and slowly that Nathan didn't so much as twinge when she did something—like he couldn't feel it. Her goal, most likely, to keep him comfortable. And, when she was finished, she pulled back and let Nathan do the rest. His eyes opened again. Simon visibly paled. One of the many, fascinating features of an android designed to mimic human life.

His eyes had gone a pale, disturbing blue, the irises ever lighter but glossed over and without a pupil. Sickly. Horror on display, but perhaps what was worse was the way Nathan didn't react when Simon waved his hand in front of his face. Just stared. Visibly began to shake because it was _dark_. Completely dark. Completely empty, a void. No error messages. No gridded view. Nothing—none of it worked. Like an overhead display had just been shut off. This time, when he reached out to touch someone, there was no one. Unable to find even where Simon was sitting next to him. As if something more than just his eyes had shut down.

He furiously shook his head, "I can't—I can't see!" Couldn't see, couldn't feel—but he kept that to himself. Kept the furious stream of data pouring around in his circuits to himself. It wasn't as big a deal, to him, as the fact that he could not see.

But, suddenly there were hands on him again. Shoulders, around his face. Two sets, he knew by the pressure but not by the feeling of skin or the press of his clothes. Simon and Allie were still there, and through a muddled audio processor, he could hear them. Allie in kind and gentle words, each harsh in her own way but soft enough that he had always listened, telling him that it would be alright. She just needed time. Time and a lot of elbow grease to fix this—that's all. If Nathan would just breathe and breathe, he would be alright. Everything would go back to normal. Simon, however, was quiet. His grip on Nathan was tight and concerned, but his brow was set straight and his face rather blank.

"We should have someone watch him," was all he said. In such a dreary little tone that Nathan felt his stomach drop. It meant that Simon and Allie needed to talk, and Nathan had one guess as to who their subject of conversation might be. Then, the hands were gone, save when Allie reached out to help him off the bed.

"I'm sure Carter has some blabbering story to share, would that be better?"

Nathan gave a pathetic nod. It's all there was left to do, listen to Carter talk incessantly about something odd or another. It was better than Standby—it was already dark, and he already didn't like it. He pulled off the side of the bed at the insistence of Allie's tug and followed out of the room. Simon stayed behind, that much he knew by the slid of hands off his shoulders when they had moved. He'd walked the halls of Jericho so many times that he knew, mapped out in his head, the exact placement of each step as they went on. Around the corner, where nobody would have to know what Nathan was suffering or ask him about it. If there was one thing they all knew—Nathan didn't want the sympathy or the coddling. He wanted to deal with it and move on, alone. Except, that was impossible. He only squeezed tighter into Allie's hand, until they stopped.

"Hey—what's up?" Carter had found himself some corner to tuck away in. It was less stressful than sitting in that main room, where there was always a watchful eye to poke and prod. Not to say that he and Andromeda hadn't had a few interesting conversations. Just that, he would have rather been where he was now. In an old side room with no door and no furniture. On the floor.

"We're having a bit of a problem," Allie's voice was trembling, just slightly so that only Nathan could tell by the shiver in her finger tips. "Would you mind watching Nathan? He's um—"

Carter let out a halfhearted grunt when Nathan looked at him. He saw the eyes. He knew. "Yeah, I'm sure I can figure something out."

"Thank you," Allie gave him a tired smile and pressed on, helping Nathan to sit down next to Carter. Close enough that they could touch, if need be, so Nathan would know he was there.

"Top secret stuff?" Carter asked.

Where Nathan still couldn't see, Allie pointed directly at him, "No, just—Simon wants to chat, is all." A happy, playful voice paired with tired eyes. Nathan heard something so unlike what Carter saw, and Carter nodded. He placed a hand over Nathan's just to let him know he was there, then retracted. He started off in a story before Allie could even get a foot out of the door, but she didn't listen to a word to be said. Instead, she retraced her steps with renewed pace. Slamming the door shut behind her, she didn't waste any time before sitting down on the bed and looking squarely at Simon.

"Something is wrong—" pointedly, frowning, like Simon didn't know that already. He just leaned back into the wall.

"I noticed."

"No, you don't understand. It's more than just the sudden _blindness_ , which is _bad_ , by the way." Simon knew. "There's nothing wrong, not that I can find. I'm afraid that his eyes are just malfunctioning, like a virus or something. I can't fix software."

"So—what are we supposed to do? Do you have any spare eyes lying around? You've been working on that one—"

"Not compatible with Nathan. It's close enough that I've been trying to modify it for Andromeda but," she sighed, rubbed into her temples, along the ridges of her spinning LED, "I won't be able to modify it that much. She's an older model, so it's easier—Nathan is a prototype." Which made it near impossible.

There was silence between them, then. There was the obvious choice—let Nathan stay blind. Let him learn to move on without his sight, because reasonably he would be able to. He was an android. With what they knew of his condition, that his sight was missing and _only_ his sight, it was the easiest and safest option. It was also the cruelest. Nathan needed his sight, and not just for the ease of mobility, but for comfort. He was nervous enough with it. Without it, Allie was almost afraid of what it might do to his stress levels. Too high and—. Allie didn't want to think about that one. Refused to think about it. Her LED was red, and her fingers clenched together in fists.

Another option remained the junkyard. They could risk another trip, which had been relatively easy the first time. This time, they could bring Bruce. An addition which relied solely on the assumption that his stature would dissuade the junked androids from approaching. Not an assumption that Allie wanted to bet her life on, and especially not the lives of other androids. Not after what they'd been through, and not after the home they'd made at Jericho. To take that from them at her own whim, and for another android? What did that really make Allie? Had she ever truly deviated from her original task? Repair the android at all costs—scrap the others. Only. Backwards, now. Nathan was the one she should have scrapped. She knew that. She'd always known that. The Allie at the CyberLife store wouldn't have hesitated to, but the Allie she was now refused. Something was wrong. Something wasn't adding up.

"Allie, hey," Simon brushed her hair out of her face and just rested his palm there. Along her cheek. A reassuring touch that she couldn't help but lean into.

"We could try the junkyard," she whispered. Decided, in her mind, that they would have to.

"There's only a thirty-eight percent chance that we'd find even one compatible eye. Two?"

"You don't have to tell me it's going to fail right off the ba—"

"The CyberLife store," Simon said. His face was flat, determined, a glare in his eye. One that Allie found herself almost afraid of. But, something about it. About him.

" _What_?" she spit out, peeling his hand away from her face just to lock their fingers together.

"The CyberLife store. I know—I know we weren't being serious, but the chances of the actual store having the parts we need? And just as spares, not taken from another android? So much higher. We," he stopped to gulp. To sniff and really think over what he was going to say. "We have to break in."

"You—you're serious. Simon, that was a _joke_. Do you know how dangerous that is? That—we could _die_. What if we trip an alarm?"

"We won't. We have to be careful, but this is the only way we can promise success. I know it was a joke, but I wasn't—I told the truth. I would do it, and I will."

"Simon—Simon," Allie just shook her head. She squeezed both of her hands around his one, tightly and enough that he thought his hand my crack under the weight. But, she softened a moment later, when Simon noticed the tears welling up in her eyelids.

"Allie, if we had another choice," but there was no other choice. Maybe, if they had time to think about it, or wits left after seeing Nathan's display. They didn't, and that panic that welled up in Allie's chest whenever there was something to do with Nathan was ever present and ever pressing.

"I have to keep him safe," she muttered.

Simon knew. He understood that better than anyone and pressed a tight hand into her shoulder. There was no discussion, no decision. Just a silent agreement that what they were about to do was stupid, dangerous, and may be the last thing they do. But, even if only for Allie's sake, they had to. This was the most important thing she'd tasked herself with, something in hindsight to make up or all the androids she signed over to death. Nathan would be the one that she saved.

For the secrecy of the situation, Andromeda shut them back up in Simon's room when they said they needed to talk about something. She could sense the air of urgency, of importance, and decided it was better left where no one else could hear what they were going to discuss. All of the doors were fitted with a turning lock, and Andromeda even took the time to slid it to the right. Keeping out whoever might have gotten curious enough to follow. The walls were thick; no need to worry about someone listening in. Then, when she turned, she stood there directly in front of Simon and Allie, as they had instead made themselves comfortable on the bed. Rather would be that Andromeda would sit as well, but she never, truly, relaxed. Not in the sight of someone else.

"What's up?" casual, though her arms were folded, and she was looking none the more impressed with each passing second.

"Something's wrong with Nathan—he can't see. As far as I can tell, there's a virus in his eyes, because they function properly. But, still," she gestured to her own eyes, to finish her message. Andromeda nodded.

"We don't have any spare parts, the last time he needed an eye—the junkyard, you remember," Allie continued. "The problem is, that's dangerous. Bad chance of finding what we need, anyway. So," she trailed off though, let her hands drop into her lap.

A lot of risk without reward. Andromeda knew the type of mission. Hated it. Not a single joint in her body shifted, not a wire out of place, and she stared. Painfully still. Androids had automated blinking etched into their programming, for the humanity, but Andromeda only ever blinked on command. This stare was something more, something intense. Made purely to drag out the information that she knew Allie was keeping from her. But, Allie didn't speak. She didn't so much as even look up from staring blankly at her fingernails.

"You wouldn't," Andromeda stiffened.

"We have to," Simon cut in, and he stood with his hand out just ever so in front of Allie. This was his idea. He'd take the fall.

"I already know where this is going—this is _dangerous_ , Simon," Andromeda hissed. She took a step closer. "Ever since you've come here, more and more of them have dreamed of living free on the outside. It doesn't work that way. Leaving Jericho will _kill_ you. Especially something like that."

"Nathan's worth it," Simon said, poignantly. He didn't even so much as flinch when Andromeda took another step closer. Closed the distance, closed her fist into the collar of his jacket.

"It's safe in here," her whisper was dripping with malice. Poison. Ill intent.

Simon gripped at her hand, "I'd rather die out there, knowing that I've helped another android, than let us all rot away in here. If we all die, then what's the point of freedom?" he yanked at her hand then, shoving it back at her, where she simply let her arm flop to her side. "Might as well just stay their slave, if dying is all you want."

"Simon—" Allie tried to cut in, but Andromeda just grunted.

"If you wanted my approval, you can't have it. But, you knew that," she looked between them. Then: "do what you will. I'll have no part in it."

When she left, the door remained opened and unlocked. Nothing but the last flying look of her poncho as she took the sharp turn right back towards the main room. That was where she left it, with her opinions. Simple, in their mannerisms, that to die free was better than to live a slave. They'd die either way, in the end, it was just a waiting game. Simon didn't agree. Not when they had the smallest bit of a chance. Better to live in freedom than to die at all, and he believed that sorely. If the cost were only to be his life, then he'd gladly pay it. Ten times over, if he had to. Nathan deserved a chance to see the good in the world, outside the walls of Jericho. To find something to hold onto outside of Allie's hand or his pencils. Simon had found that, once. It would be cruel to think otherwise.

"We're going," Simon whispered, his eyes closed and the ever-slightest shake of his head. He jolted when he felt Allie's fingers around his wrist. Cold. Tight enough to hurt.

"Thank you," she whispered, then stood. "This is going to be dangerous."

"Only if we fail."

That night, it felt like an old routine in the wake of anxiety. Something Simon was getting used to feeling and wondered often if Allie understood the emotion any better than he did. She always seemed so sure of herself, when the time struck right, in strong contrast to how she acted. There had never really been enough middle ground for Simon to understand. Even now, while she buttoned her plaid shirt up a little higher than normal, there was a glint in her eye that betrayed nothing short of confidence. Sureness. That they were going to walk out unscathed—and Simon believed her. Having her there eased his own reservations about the plan, even if it was his own. It was warmer weather, so he left his jacket unzipped.

They left the backpacks, this time. They weren't leaving for a haul. Only the hopes that they could break in, and if they could, one part. One of them could hold it in a pocket, if need be. The less they had with them, the better. For the event that something would go wrong. And, nothing would. Simon was working on convincing himself of that. All that remained was what would go right, once they had finished dressing and sat down away from the rest of the androids. Up and through the stairs and corridors of Jericho, near the door which led to the deck. This way, nobody would hear them. To the others, this was another routine run to the dumpster. Even if they hadn't made one of those runs in weeks. Even if nobody had asked.

"The back door," Allie didn't wait for introduction before she began, "used to unlock through data confirmation." She held up her hand, stark white, for clarification.

"I'm sure it still does, if it's an employee entrance."

"Equipment," Allie corrected, but Simon only frowned.

"Are you thinking it would still accept you?" he asked immediately, steering the commentary back on track.

Allie shook her head, "not at all, but there's a chance I might be able to hack it."

Hacking was an option, and perhaps their only option, given what sort of securities might be lurking around the store. He hadn't seen, neither of them had. And, her memory still serving, didn't change the fact that it had been over a year since she'd stepped foot in that store. The likelihood of changes was high, probable even. However, she had a fair running knowledge of android technology, and that seemed to pass along into technology that androids could interact with. If she believed that she could do it, Simon was nobody to argue. The most he'd ever done was access online stores.

"That would get us in? Would it set off an alarm?" Simon raised an eyebrow at her. Still, he was hopeful.

"Don't think so. The only people who can get in through the back word there, so there shouldn't be anything attached to it. We might need to go into the front of the store to find the parts, though. They don't keep much of a back-stock. Or," she stopped to shrug, "they didn't."

"I'm willing to risk whatever we have to. It's late enough that we can go—we'll figure it out on the way."

"Wing it?" Allie laughed. "That doesn't sound like Simon. Are you sure you're in there?"

"I'm here," he pushed away from the wall and did not return her jovial little smile. When he moved for the door, Allie dropped the look, as well, and followed him.

Outside, the sky was a dismal darkened gray, and rain was dripping at a leisurely pace that it might as well have had something better to do, for the time. Late enough, for the hour, that the sun had gone down, but not quite so late that all the humans had too. They'd have to be careful and treat this like any other run, and then some. The moment they were off of Jericho, out through the winding alley ways and street passages, they linked hands and went on along the sidewalk. They'd walked the path often enough to find that playing couple was the easiest way to go unnoticed. Save those who might look twice at the lack of an umbrella or a jacket, but Allie had her beanie. Simon had his hat. Well enough and human enough that it could pass as a simple bout of forgetfulness—and they had been asked before. This time, there was nothing. Passing cars and the slapping sound of shoes on a wet sidewalk, but nothing more.

Their walk was silent and relatively unfamiliar. Though the path was the same, there was a different air about it. Something a little more somber. A little harsher, in the event of the rain, perhaps. Either way, they walked the path in silence. Silence, and quieter still, that even their feet might not make noise along the small puddles forming in the dips and crevices of the sidewalk. The rain, still falling, by the time they reached the street across from the store. Sitting there, in all of its complete darkness. Just beyond, with what lights law required be left on, they could see inactivated androids standing in their perfectly stark uniforms. Blank and lifeless, but with eyes that would no doubt work when they were brought to life.

"The back," Allie muttered. Even when she, too, stopped to stare forward. The glass was crisscrossed with an obvious security matrix, something of CyberLife's own design, no doubt. Something they would never be able to get through.

"I remember when I was first activated," Simon whispered. "They wouldn't even give me a name. I was met with silence."

Allie tugged on his arm, in comfort, "I'll never stop screaming if it'll make you feel better."

Her comment tore him out of his thoughts, that he might look at her with his crooked little smile. He nudged at her, mockingly, and they went on. The same was as before, as every time, and every time after. To the back of the store, but they did not stop at the dumpster. There was the slightest opening between the buildings, blocked off at the front by thick wall, which did not span the entire length towards the roof. It was simply to cover the access way, and on the front, there was some design painted over from the side building. Allie stepped out around Simon to approach the only door. There was a panel to the side, just the right shape for someone to lay their hand. She hesitated.

"Allie?" Simon whispered. No one would be able to hear them here, but. There was still that feeling hanging heavy around their shoulders. "What's up?"

"What if I can't do this?"

"Then we break through the front door—we have to," he urged her forward with a press to her back. She didn't resist the press and stepped on.

One hesitation more before she retracted her skin, melting off like water away from her fingertips and over her palm. Until she could press it into the panel. There was the faintest blue glow as Allie worked, her eyes flickering and lids rapidly blinking. He could see the whites turn a morbid looking black. Seconds passed. Each one more painful than the last. A minute. The door hadn't opened, which meant, at some point, they'd removed her signature from an allowed list of androids. According to procedure, and it had been foolish to hope for anything otherwise. All that remained her was ability to make it accept her. Simon figured the idea was just the same as any sort of data transference, just more complicated.

Only moments later, however, she pulled back with a sudden jerk, eyes open. A remaining spark trickled up through her finger tips and through her palm, like the strangest tickle. She flexed her hand to be rid of it, and then reached out for the door knob. There was the faintest of clicks, like a wire tripped, when she pressed open. Just the sound of the knob turning. Then, the door fell open and revealed the dark room before them. Allie entered first, and when Simon followed, he closed the door. It took a moment for anything in the room to take shape, with the shadows, but eventually Simon could see well enough to recognize the storage room.

"Everything looks…the same," Allie whispered. Simon could see the wide-eyed familiarity written over her face. Dark, in the memories that it brought, but relieved in what might make it easy. She still knew where everything was, almost to down to the inch, for what little had been shifted around.

Allie took one side of the room, and Simon took the other. They were looking for orbital units. Eyes. That would be compatible with Nathan. For the amount of time that Simon spent watching the repairs, the number was engraved into the inside of his eyelids. He knew exactly what part they were both looking for. The color didn't matter, but they would try for brown—Nathan's current eye color. It would keep him comfortable, and the color itself was relatively common. Still, box after box, just put back where it had been, and did not contain the pieces they were looking for. Simon closed the very last one and let out a discouraged sigh. When he turned, Allie seemed to be having the same issue, a look of irritation strewn over her features.

"We should try the front," Simon told her. There were no arguments. Just a sudden push across the room before Simon could even so much as react. Allie was all but dashing for the door. This was just the stock room—there was no telling what was sitting out in the front, where they kept the spare parts.

"There's a separate area for maintenance, we should try there first," Allie threw back over her shoulder.

She weaved out through the hallways in the back of the store; Simon followed. They passed by a break room, with the letters scrawled out on an electronic sign. The pen for the sign was hanging on the wall, hung loosely by a piece of thread. There were several offices, with names written on them in the same manner, but Allie did not stop at any of the doors. Instead, she pushed past until they came to the end of the hallway, where the door was large and metal. Just to the side, there was another panel for Allie's hand, and she didn't hesitate, this time, to press her white palm against it. The process started over again. Fluttering eyelids, the jolt when she had finished. Only this time, the door slid open on its own with a rush of cold air.

Walking in felt like home, and Allie hated the feeling as it welled up in her chest. Sudden nostalgia for a life of ease and comfort. Save the fear of it all, the ending of the day when it was something like an off switch. She was just a machine to be turned off with the cash register when the customers had all gone home and there was nothing more for her to do. Stashed in the corner up on a box. Where another android, closed eyes and loose limbs, was sitting now. Allie stared forward. She didn't realize she'd grabbed Simon's hand until he was hissing in pain, and she jolted.

"Simon—I'm sorry," she whispered, breathed. Quiet enough to not disturb the dust in the air. Her only saving grace was that the android sitting there was not her. A newer model.

"She won't wake up if we're quiet," Simon told her, and reached out to squeeze her hand back in comfort. There was a tremble in her fingers, though.

Allie stepped away and began to rummage. There was no use talking about what was going on—she was sure that Simon had a mind enough to figure it out. That she had once sat where that android was sitting, and it wasn't a consenting Standby Mode. It was so close to deactivation it hurt. Just one line of code short from being shut off completely, forever, with only hope of a reboot and a reset. The only way out of that mode was authorization. The manager at this particular store to come by, and it was so much like hitting the on button for a coffee machine that it seemed wrong. Physically ached in Allie's chest, but she tried to ignore it. There were boxes and shelves and cabinets to go through.

She could feel the seconds ticking away in her head as they rummaged and searched. Each passing moment was another moment that Nathan went without his sight, and who knew whatever else could be wrong. The unknown was what worried her more than anything else. She could fix anything else—but not the unknown. Like trying to fix a shadow she couldn't quite grasp, and she was relying entirely on Nathan's ability to tell her what was malfunctioning. Seconds longer, seconds more, and the final cabinet was closed with a padlock. When she noticed, she waved Simon over.

"Help me break into this," she was already reaching for something. Simon watched in one-part awe, one-part horror, as she pulled her small hammer out of the waistband of her pants. She looked at him, and he looked back. Neither of them said anything.

"Are you sure it's wise to leave evidence that we were here?"

"If we want to look in the damn locker, we need to. Hold the padlock," she was already wedging the head of the hammer inside the arch. Simon followed her instructions, and after a moment of struggling, the padlock popped right off. Clattered to the floor with a loud thud and fell silent a moment later. They both stood frozen as it settled. Waited, watched. And when the silence came, let out an unneeded breath.

Allie opened the doors and there was a pause. A sound. Allie glanced over at Simon, who seemed to be standing deathly still. Even his breathes were slow and calculated, back to the basics of programming. A default. Blinking. Staring at her. The android in the corner hadn't moved, either. Still half-deactivated and limp against the wall. But, the sound echoed out again. Almost like a foot tap. A pressing sound so full of dread that her fingers dropped away from the cabinet. There were no parts inside, anyway. Just tools.

"Please tell me you're tapping your foot," Allie whispered.

Simon just shook his head. Allie had to glance to be sure. His feet were both planted firmly on the floor. Then, something caught her eye. A flash of light through the doorway. The door they'd left open. A flash of light. A flashlight. The sound had been footsteps. Someone was _in the store._ They exchanged looks, nervous—they didn't have what they'd come for. Not yet. There was one place left to check, and it was in the front of the store on the shelves. Where someone had just come from.

"Yeah—" the voice, female and slanted with annoyance. "Backup sounds nice. Looks like some kinda break in. Someone could still be here, I'm looking around—over," and the ending glitch of a radio.

The light changed directions, and they moved almost simultaneously. There was no use in closing the door now, they'd already been caught. It was just a matter of getting out now. Still without what they'd come from. It was dangerous, even stupid. Allie was already racking her mind, trying to figure out what had happened. Why there was an officer wandering the halls, calling for backup. Something had gone wrong, and they hadn't even noticed. Certainly, hadn't planned for it. They didn't have weapons or any means of defense. This was a stealth game now. Allie took point, and Simon followed three paces behind her. Not a step farther, not a step closer.

After a moment of waiting, they ducked down the final hallway. The lights were off in the main store, save the dull glare of the electric display. Easy enough to avoid, and Allie was the smaller one. She used her hand to motion for Simon to stay where he was. To watch her back. He ducked down low at the corner turn of the door, the small little area right before it, and watched as she crept along the back of the wall. The store was broken into two parts, a cut out in the wall separating them. This back area was for parts of varying importance, while the front had the newest models of androids. Allie seemed to know exactly where she was going, straight for a shelf in the back.

"Is there anyone—"

Allie grabbed the box and dropped back down to the floor. Simon was already scrambling across the floor, but there wasn't any time for them to make an escape. There was a sudden light through the glass store front, in blinding blue and red as it spun—no siren. That officer was rounding the corner, her gun drawn. It dawned on Allie all too fast as they ducked behind the nearest counter. Still hiding but trapped.

"The back door," she muttered, hurried, "the back door had an alarm—we tripped it—the hacking—"

"Who's there!? I can hear you!" the officer cut Allie off in a carried voice, angry now. "Come out with your hands up."

Allie gulped and held the box close to her chest. This was the stupidest thing they'd ever done, but she looked at Simon and he looked back. They had to run, they had to get out. Before the other officers joined the first one inside. That would trap them. And it left them one escape route: out the way they'd come. From where he was seated, Simon was better suited for mapping their escape. He peered around the side of the counter and watched the officer make her practiced steps. Not too far, never too far from the door. She was waiting, stalling, and the more Simon looked, the more he realized. She was waiting for backup before pursing, just as she should. She'd called for it, this was the smart thing to do. By standing there, she was an intimidating enough factor. To keep them in place. He corrected himself, immediately. _This_ was the stupidest thing they'd ever done.

When he poured out from around the table, he had Allie by the hand, and they moved together. The officer reacted to the first sound of a foot and turned. There was no time to pull the trigger, because Simon was right there. Inches in front of her and grabbing her wrist. Heart, pounding. LED spinning red beneath his hat. He had her by the wrist and they wrestled over her hold on the gun—and Simon let go of Allie. She dashed around, and Simon wrenched backwards to knock the officer off her balance. They both hit the floor. She went for her radio before she went for her weapon.

"I've found them, they—" she broke off with a gasp. Simon never knew his ears could ring, but the sound of a gunshot echoed out with panic and warning. His hands were trembling. Shaking with such abandon that he dropped the gun. When had he picked it up? When had he pulled the trigger? When had he learned to do that? It didn't matter. The officer was down on the ground, sputtering and trying to press into the wound in her abdomen. She was—Simon just shook his head, ground his teeth together as he backed up.

"Sei! Officer down!" A man called through, pushing through the door. He made eye contact with Simon, and something clicked. "We've got deviants," the man rumbled. Simon's heart dropped into his abdomen cavity. He knew his face would come back to haunt him, but there was no time. He turned and dashed back through the door before the next shot rang out.

There would be no mercy.

There would be no escape.

If they were caught, they would be killed without hesitation. He'd seen enough of the news stories and the articles to know. Nobody cared to keep an android alive, even in their prime of slavery. Deviants were malfunctioning machines. The best thing to do with them was to shut them down. Scrap them for parts. For the first time, it really hit Simon hard. He didn't want to die. Not like this. Not ever for something like this, and he used that to push himself forward. Back through the hallway, ignoring the screeching of an officer's radio. Allie was waiting for him with the door open, back through the storage room. Out through the back. The box of parts still hugged close to her chest. This was it.

They clasped hands the minute they were outside—all doors left open now—and then ran down the alley. Back through and by the dumpster, around to the side. Sirens were wailing now—more backup. Simon could almost hear the orders to shoot on sight ringing up in his ears, where there was still a buzz from the sound of a gunshot. It didn't matter the danger. They had to finish their mission, which rested entirely on getting back to Jericho. There was no way to go but forward. Even if there was time to map another way through the city, it might take far too long. By then, there was no telling what consequences they might face. The longer they left Nathan, the more damage could be caused. Allie wanted to avoid permanent blindness at all cost.

Allie was leading them now, around the side of the building. There was no time to stop, not even when they reached the end of the building's protection. The open space between them and the next building was wide. Wide enough to be a risk, but one they had to take. Allie squeezed Simon's hand hard enough that it hurt, and they were running across the street. There were shouts that followed them, then footsteps. They only pushed harder, ran faster. There was nothing that could tire their mechanical joints, it was just a matter of escaping uncaught. Of the ringing still high and shrieking in Simon's ear. Something was wrong. Something was so very wrong. Something in the shape of a final, stray police cruiser. Pulled up to the scene just late enough for the tires to come to a screeching halt. Simon watched it all in slow motion.

The car hopped the curb, the slide of rubber across asphalt and the noise that it produced. The man who stepped out with an angry scowl across his face. The scar on his nose, the jacket—another leather jacket. The gun in his hands, pointed with purpose, and the eyes of a marksman. Allie had the parts. Allie was leading them. The bullet wouldn't miss. No other option remained. He yanked on Allie's arm and pulled her back into a stop. Into him, behind him, just in time for the bullet to make its way through the air.

Simon collapsed. No fanfare. No noise. Just dropped where he stood, and Allie was shouting. Shouting for him behind audio processors that weren't quite working right, where warning signs and blaring alarms filled his hears and his eyes—Simon just stared forward at them all. Even as Allie tried and prodded and pulled him off the ground, there was nothing he could do. He could feel the thirium seeping out from the wound. He could see the smug look on the man's face as he readied for another shot. Allie was just ever fast enough, and the next bullet ricocheted off the edge of the building, just shy when they rounded the corner. There were precious seconds left.

"Simon—Simon, no! Simon!" Allie slapped his face, desperate to get him to speak.

Warning. Critical Failure. Shutdown Imminent.

"Allie—" Simon looked at her. Her face dropped when she saw the thirium dripping from his lips. No.

"How long?" she asked.

"How—what?" like he didn't understand. Like he couldn't see the countdown.

" _How long_?" she hissed out through teeth, through tears. It was raining now. Pouring, and over the sound of the drops, it was so hard to hear. But it was there, in the background. Footsteps. They wouldn't be safe here forever.

"Fifteen minutes and forty-three seconds," he answered, voice broken and more static than him.

"Standby," she ordered. She was already shoving the box up under her chin and situating them both. Moving Simon in his limp state to just where she needed him.

"What—?"

"Standby! Now!" through her tears. He could hear her voice break. " _You'll last longer_ ," came the final plea, and Simon did what she was told. It was safe. He convinced himself, in final seconds, that it was safe. If Allie told him to, it had to be. She knew. She worked on androids. Instantly, at her command, he was starting Standby mode. Just short enough of her order that he could feel her arms around him.

Suddenly, he was on her back. Arms draped over her shoulders and legs supported by her hands. Standby Complete. Simon was dead weight against her back, but Allie wasn't about to stop. They'd wasted so many moments arguing that there were no more to be had. She had to muster the strength to make it back to Jericho before Simon shut down. For good. She had no more than twenty minutes and a maze of buildings to run through—and there was no time to waste. She took off the second she had Simon securely on her back, at full speed. She was made to hoist androids around—she'd done it for a living. She knew she could do it now. Even in her stature. Even if Simon stood nearly a head taller. She could do this. Even as prey.

There were footsteps and sirens sounding off behind her. Shouts. The static of radios. But they were only human. They could never outrun her, not between the buildings where the cars couldn't go. If she tore back far enough, into the darkest parts, she'd be gone for good. Even for all the flashlights combined, they'd never find her in the places she knew well enough how to hide. Even with an android on her back. There was no time to think, only time enough to weave herself the shortest path she could come up with and go. Go. Go. Heart pounding, ears ringing, eyes burning. The rain beating into her skin like it meant harm more than bullets. All she could think about was Simon.

Simon was dying.

Somewhere through the rain she found time enough to choke out a sob. To keep her going. Something of effort and exertion—she couldn't stop. She didn't. Not until there were no more footsteps. No more sirens. No more bullets. Nothing but the echoes of her feet slapping into the cold, wet concrete. Until that concrete turned to the horrific echoing of metal corridors. She still had the box. She still had Simon. But there was no time. Running through Jericho had never felt like such a mission, where she almost tripped on the stairs, fell into the wall. Her desperation. Stepping out from the door had never felt so stifling. She nearly collapsed, but there was work to be done. She called for help, all the help they could bring her, and slung Simon up onto the crates.

And then there was only darkness. Darkness, and the ever-present stinging and press of things that didn't belong. Poking and prodding. Hands. Tools. Wires. Warning messages had been floating around since Simon went under. Critical Failure. Biocomponent Damaged. Thirium Pump Regulator. Shut Down Imminent. Except, somewhere, the countdown had stopped. With two minutes and counting to spare. Just froze, and after a while, disappeared altogether. Each warning went in turn. One by one. Gone. Disappeared from his view, until a new message popped up. One that he'd never seen before, of questioning compatibility. And the press of more fingers along the inner workings of his body—then gone.

The first thing Simon felt was a hand on his shoulder. In the strange bare area over his collarbone, where he noticed was skin on skin. Somewhere, he'd lost his jacket. His sweatshirt. The shirt underneath. The first thing he heard was a deep, rumbling grunt of surprise. Then, a voice he knew was Allie's. Hands, again, over his chest and pressed down as she stood up to look over him. Everything came flooding in all at once, and Simon's eyes peeled open as he jolted up. Sitting. The hands flew off all at once. Only then did Simon really get a chance to look around, to understand. Allie was covered in blue blood. Her hands, her tank top—she'd lost the plaid shirt somewhere in the repair, Simon guessed. She looked dreadful. Tired. Pale. Like something was still wrong. Bruce was standing over her, looking more lost than broken. Andromeda was standing just to the side of him, hood down and obvious blue stains over her hands. She'd helped.

"Simon—I'm so glad you're okay," Allie's whisper was shattered in her voice box. Static from the stress, but the look on her face was so relieved. Something was wrong.

"I'm—what happened?" he looked down, pressing his hand over his chest. His skin was still white, but he noticed his clothes folded neatly to the side. As if he'd ever want to wear them again, given the damage. Given the memories.

"You… do you not remember?" Allie bit into her lip. Like she wanted to avoid the subject.

"You scared the crap out of us," Carter rounded the corner and put his hands back on Simon's shoulders. He'd been standing behind the crates, where Simon sat—the first hand he'd felt. "I thought you were _dead_ , Simon. What the fuck?"

"I—"

"You were shot," Allie filled in. "You're good as new, though! Had to do a few adjustments, but it should keep you going," oddly and unnaturally chipper. Simon then noticed the CyberLife box still sitting at the edge of the crates. The one they had worked so hard to get. Sitting there unopened. Then. With his skin still gone, he could see it so clearly. The thirium pump regulator looked no different than any, but his system had told him all he needed to know. That's where he'd been shot. Almost directly. When he pressed his hand over it, Allie's little gasp was audible.

"How… We didn't have any pump regulators on hand," he looked at her, dumbly. "We never have."

She gave no response.

Simon looked to Bruce, who's eyes were downcast, and fists curled up at his side. Carter had pulled away. Andromeda stared blankly. He noticed Erin off to the side, Vix slightly behind her and back turned. The few other androids they'd managed to house were nowhere to be seen. And Lucy was staring back from her room, like there was something to be said and no one had the strength to say it. Simon felt a twinge in his gut.

"Where's Nathan?"

"Simon—" but before Allie could finish, Simon tore off the crates. He grabbed his jacket on his way, but the calls that followed him didn't stop him.

He pulled his jacket on over his shoulders, for comfort more than the need to cover. Even as his legs protested the run, he made his way across the open area and to the corridor. Such a simple move, such a routine run, but he couldn't shake the feeling that this was something final. The way they'd all looked at him. The new regulator—there was no way Allie had managed to snatch that off the CyberLife shelf. She'd have no way of knowing he was going to take a bullet for her. This was something more, something enough that he could hear the footsteps behind him but ignored them. Nathan's door was the first one in the hallway, partially cracked, and Simon barreled through.

"Nathan—"

He should have been sitting at his makeshift little desk, plucking with his pencils or sitting back against the wall with his tablet. He should have looked up and smiled when Simon came in, welcomed him back to the land of operation. With bright new brown eyes that worked and no stutter. Nathan should have been there in all the ways he ever was. Smiling and happy and alive. Instead. The room felt dark and heavy, like a cloud had settled inside and there could be no light. Nathan was lying there, eyes closed, and hands folded neatly over his chest. The blue stain on his shirt was evident. Simon felt the breath leave his system.

"No—No," Simon hobbled forward. "No. No—Nathan," shaking his head, eyes closed as he stepped forward. He stopped when he felt the tears dripping down over his cheeks. When he heard the creak of metal as Allie pushed through the door. When he looked at her, tears were gushing down her face.

"How could you do this?! We were supposed to—we were trying to _repair_ him!" Simon was shouting, stepping closer to her. But she just shook her head. Furiously, eyes wide like she hadn't noticed the tears yet.

"He'd already shut down when we got here! I—I had to, I—!"

"You could've saved him!" Simon protested.

"I wanted to—I wanted to, but I—I couldn't!" she stepped forward. Nearly fell into Simon when she grasped at the edges of his collar. She was sobbing, now, body shaking with the force of it all. "I wanted to save him so badly, but I—there wasn't enough time! I couldn't lose both of you. I couldn't. I can't…" she stopped, hiccupping. When her head hit into Simon's chest, he recoiled. Caught her.

"I couldn't lose both of you," she whispered again. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I'm so, so sorry," and she continued on like that. Crying, shaking, whispering her apologies into his chest until he wrapped his arms around her shoulders and squeezed.

"Why me?" Simon whispered. Allie didn't answer. She just wrapped her arms around his waist. For the moment, they stood there: wrapped up in each other and crying. Until Allie finally found her bearings and pulled away, though she kept her hands on Simon's hips. Just for the feeling. That he was there and alive.

"It was a connectivity problem," she sniffed. There were a few stray tears still rolling, and Simon wiped at them. His own, left and ignored. "Something malfunctioned and his systems were disconnecting from his core. I could've—this wouldn't have fixed him, anyway."

"He never… He never said anything."

"I _had_ to, Simon. I had to save you—I'm," she stopped and just shook her head. She wouldn't have done it differently. She couldn't have, even if, now, she only stared at the pump regulator sitting in Simon's abdomen. Skin covered it quick enough when Simon realized what had her attention.

"I'll take good care of it," he whispered as he pulled her back into him chest.

"It wasn't quite right," she admitted. "Something about the programming was different, but I modified you enough that it fit—I—I'm sorry. If anything goes wrong—" it'd be her fault, now, if Simon shut down. If the regulator somehow killed him. Or if the modifications caused a fatal error. Her fault.

"You had to modify me? I'm impressed," and he even laughed. Held onto her just a little tighter, until he felt the weight in her shoulders dissipate. And then: "it'll be alright," he whispered into her hair.

"Why'd you do it, Simon?" she mustered the courage to ask. It was a strange feeling, as she spoke, and her lips dragged across his skin.

"I guess I just couldn't lose you either."

Eventually, there was no more to be said. Simon left Allie in Nathan's room, alone, where she could decide what to do. He had already said what goodbyes he could and stepping away from the situation was all he could manage. Save Andromeda standing at the end of the hall with clothing folded up in her arms. Her walk was dangerous when she approached, and she all but threw the clothing at his chest—Simon noticed the shirt was new. His University of Detroit sweatshirt was still there. He caught the clothing and met her eyes, her eye. The only one that still freely expressed anything.

"I hope you're happy," she hissed. "I hope you got what you wanted. I hope your little trip was worth it—" she took a sharp inhale. "I found him shut down, lying sprawled out on the floor like he'd been trying to get for help. He was—dammit, he was supposed to be with someone! I already gave Carter a piece of my mind, but—" she stopped again. Watching the way that Simon's face fell, and she only sighed.

"I didn't mean for this to happen," Simon told her. He clutched the pile of clothes to his chest and took a step back. "I'm sorry."

"How many more androids have to die, Simon?" she asked so calmly that Simon wondered if he'd misheard her. But, when he looked up at her, there was nothing but blank acceptance in her eye. He didn't have an answer, and she didn't want one. She turned on her heel and left him there without another word. Without so much as a glance over her shoulder. A kind word that she might have been glad Simon made it.

He'd been so close to death. Two minutes and counting.

Putting on the new shirt—a button up, this time, with a stiff collar and mismatched buttons—had felt comforting. He could hide everything away with clothes and try never to think about it again. Then the sweatshirt, the jacket, and a moment to stand there. Nathan still had his supplies scattered out in both rooms, so that no matter where he went, there was something to do. Simon would have to clean it up, eventually. For the moment, he grabbed up his shard of metal and carved one more tally into the wall. Four hundred and thirty-two days. And a day he would never forget. A day that would, quite closely, beat inside of him for the rest of his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [CyberShips Tower](https://discord.gg/T7sW7DB)   
>  [Check Out My Tumblr If You Want To See More](https://tantumuna.tumblr.com)   
> 


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ayyy I'm back at it again with another Chapter. This officially marks the end of stuff I have outlined, so go me. Time to blind write, which I am best at. (not really). But this chapter was fun cuz gasp we finally see another REAL DBH character. Who could it be? Find out on season 2 of One's Lying In The Comments.
> 
> School hasn't started kicking my ass yet but Work certainly is, oof. Been a mini manager all week so im stressed out :D gonna take a few days to get started on the next chapter probably, give myself some time to cool down. Hope you guys enjoy!

April 23rd, 2037-

Simon hadn't left his room, not since he went into Standby for the night, and woke up some time early morning to sit and stare forward at the wall. Trying to ignore the mess that Nathan had left with his pencils and the tablet, which just sat there mockingly on a crate across the way. If Simon didn't look at it, then surely it wasn't there. But there were more reasons than just a forced forgetfulness to stay planted where he was. He didn't want to face anyone. He didn't want to see Andromeda again. He didn't want to hear what Carter had to say. He didn't want to know how broken up Bruce was. And most of all, he didn't want to see Allie, where she no doubt was still hunched over in Nathan's room with his body. Nathan was an android—a prototype, worst of all. Simon knew the fate of his body. The fate of all the androids who had died within the walls of Jericho. Spare parts.

But, if came one consequence from locking himself in his room for the better half of the last twelve hours, it was the inevitable knocking on his door. Shut, but not locked, and there was little Simon could do to prevent it from opening. Even if this was something he wanted to avoid, this encounter. It's why he hadn't left, after all, but his head still lulled to the side when Carter walked into the room. Looking worse for wear, like they all did, but there was something like guilt behind his usually warm demeanor. It tugged at Simon's heart, but he kept his mouth closed tight. His silence would no doubt be taken as resentment, anger even. That was fine by him, because might have Carter deserved it. They'd asked him to watch Nathan, after all, and when they returned—Nathan had been alone. There was so much to the story Simon didn't know, and an absent-minded hand over his chest reminded him of that. His heart was still beating, after all.

"You don't look so good," Carter said, idly with that hint of laughter he always seemed to speak with. Only, it fell on deaf ears, and his half smile fell immediately. "Sorry."

Simon just looked at him like there was nothing more to say. There wasn't, not to him, but he would've been blind to not see the guilt eating over Carter's features. Like his very skin was built of it now. When Carter sat down on the bed beside him, Simon didn't stop him, for that reason alone. Whatever this was to Simon, it was a confession to Carter. Only, silence followed while Carter leaned forward onto his knees and toyed with his fingers. Quite unsure just what to say in a situation like this. This wasn't losing an android who had wandered in half dead already. This was losing _family_ , even if Andromeda had only meant that as a joke so many months ago. It was just reality, one that Simon and Allie had never tried to refute. Shattered, now, and left only in its wake the remains of a dead boy.

"I'm sorry," Carter managed, strained and static in his voice. He didn't know what to say.

"Don't be," Simon replied. The quality of his own voice shocked him, and his fingers played at his throat for a minute as it resonated through his audio processors. It didn't sound like him.

"Don't say that," Carter straightened. "I can see it in your eyes—you're mad at me. You _blame_ me, and I can't even fault you for it."

When Simon didn't so much as shift, Carter let out a sigh.

"You guys had been gone for a couple of hours, and Nathan just…" another sigh, like his systems were overheating with his stress. When Simon glanced, it almost hurt to see the blaring red number looming over Carter's head. Eighty-two percent.

"He wasn't talking, he didn't want to. It was just listening, and he shouted at me. Said he was tired of listening, and _fuck,_ I could barely understand him. Like watching the kid just break right in front of me, you know?"

Simon did know, and his fingers twitched in response.

"I tried to calm him down, and it all just stopped so suddenly. He looked right at me, like he could _see_ , and just told me he wanted to be left alone. What was I supposed to do? I took him back to his room and left the door open, so we could stop by."

That had Simon's attention, though. Different than what he'd just unceremoniously assumed had happened. He shifted slightly, to look better at Carter. To show he was listening, receptive. Just as his nature would be.

"I told Andromeda, and she already knew about his problem. Figured you guys just told her, so, great. That's helpful. I told Bruce too. Big guy seems to like him, so I figured he could help. And we just. Kept an eye on him, I guess? Every so often we'd go by and make sure he was alright, see if he needed anything. He was _fine._ I swear, Simon," Carter was looking at him now, stringent and pleading.

Simon only stared back.

"Not like, thirty minutes before Allie came bursting in the door with you—fuck," Carter squeezed his fingers together and sighed. "Fuck, I thought you were dead."

Simon stiffened up, wrapping his arms around himself as he did. The strain in Carter's voice felt so genuine, like the thought of Simon being dead had killed him all the same—where his priorities really were. Just as Allie had said. When they'd returned, Nathan was already shut down. They all had to make a choice, and even if Simon didn't like it, they'd chosen him. It left just one pressing question of _why_?

"You should have seen it, when we told her. She didn't even hesitate. She was sobbing, but—she just," Carter shuddered with his next exhale. "She didn't hesitate." With such a brokenness in his voice that told only that he couldn't bring himself to say it. He'd let Simon infer what it meant, with whatever intensity he needed to imagine of Allie ripping out a thirium pump.

Simon finally moved forward, a little closer, and put his hand on Carter's shoulder. Immediately, Carter softened, and his stress level dropped. Simon was listening, attentive, and understanding. Everything he needed, because the guilt was destroying him. All of it had felt like some theatric to explain how it wasn't his fault, because he didn't want that sort of burden. But, Simon saw it for what it was. Just the confession of a man who thought he could've done better. When Simon leaned forward to rest his chin on Carter's shoulder, Carter knew he'd be alright.

"I'm sorry," he still said, once more, quieter than he had before.

"It really wasn't your fault," Simon replied— _finally_ —and shifted to look more directly at Carter. "Allie told me what the malfunction was. I know we couldn't have saved him."

_But why me?_ Still hung ever so ominously in the air. It was a question Simon didn't want to ask. Knew he needed to, to put his heart at ease, but his mouth wouldn't form the words.

"Bruce wants to talk to you too, but I told him, well," Carter sniffed. "Told him you weren't talking to people."

"I'll find him," Simon muttered. He sounded tired, now, more than anything. His body was still working to accommodate the new regulator.

"You need to rest, I'll send him in, if that's alright. We're worried about you, Simon. Like, terrified. You almost died—"

"Stop reminding me," with more poison than he intended, but Carter clamped his mouth shut immediately.

By the time Carter left, Simon still hadn't asked his hanging question. He was working through possible phrasings, answers, ideas. Anything to keep himself from asking, really, because there was this fear growing up in his gut about what the truth would be. He didn't want to hear that he was worth more than Nathan was, because there should be no difference here in the way lives were treated. Nobody was more worth a life than another. Even if he knew, on the basest level, that Nathan couldn't have been saved, it still hurt to acknowledge that. It was a reality he didn't want to indulge, even if it was the one he was living in. Only the sound of footsteps halted his thoughts again, and the deja vu was sickeningly funny, as Bruce stepped in.

"The little ferret tells me you are better," Bruce said, with all the seriousness he'd always had, even when Simon popped a smile. Ferret was what Bruce had taken to calling Carter—to fit in with his nicknames. It just seemed to be a quirk Bruce had, and Simon wondered if it came with deviancy, or he'd always done it.

"I wouldn't say _better_ , but I'm alive," and that was to say for something. Bruce moved to sit down beside him with an immediate hand on his shoulder. Grounding him.

"Alive and better are same thing when current state is considered." Simon was about to snap, tell him not to mention how close he'd come to dying again, but Bruce continued. "The pup will be missed. He was good."

Short, simple, and not a mention of trading lives. Simon relaxed. Bruce was a quiet sort, and there was something to be appreciated about that. He didn't bog down the moment with words or unnecessary talk. He was comfortable to sit there, to let Simon lean against him and find some sort of bearing again. They didn't need to talk. Just a moment of silence for Nathan as much as it was for Simon. He'd eventually have to be okay with this. Come to terms with his own living while Nathan did not.

Eventually, Simon had strength in his legs again. While that strength didn't so much expand to the rest of his body, Bruce had still suggested he not sit in his room all day and mope. Nobody blamed him for anything. He'd protected Allie—she'd shared the whole story. He'd saved her life, and it was better, in the end, that only Nathan had died instead of what might have been all three of them. While he didn't care for the utilitarian semantics, Bruce was right, in his own way. Simon couldn't fault him for that. He'd saved Allie because he couldn't bear the thought of losing her. It was the same story, different writers. He still had to see her. He couldn't just leave her to wallow in misery like she would.

As he'd suspected, she was still in Nathan's room, but it was nothing like he'd imagined. Nathan's body was gone—wherever she'd put it, Simon didn't want to ask. But, more than that, so were his things. His art, his pencils, his paper. All of it: gone, and what was left was in Simon's room just waiting to also be picked up and thrown away. Allie was perched up where she normally was, sitting on the crates with her knees pulled up to her chest and fiddling with that optical unit again. She didn't even look at him when he entered. Of all, there was only one thing different about Allie, and it was the now noticeable stains in her clothing.

"Allie," Simon called at her, and she jolted. Almost dropped her screwdriver but caught it just before it fell too far out of reach.

"Simon! Hey," chipper. "Glad to see you up and about. What's up?"

"What's up?" Simon shut the door behind him. "What do you mean _what's up_?"

Allie shrugged, "hi, how are you?"

"I should be asking you that? You seem strangely happy—and where's—?" Simon couldn't say the name.

"Did what I had to do. It's done. I'm not gonna dwell," she went back to poking at the eye.

"You're not going to dwell? You knew him longer than I did. I thought your objective was to protect him, and you're just going to—do whatever it is you're doing?"

"Fixing an optical unit, and yeah." Deadpan, staring at Simon now. For all the seriousness in her voice, Simon could still see what she was failing to mask. The puffiness around her eyes—installed in androids to mimic a human crying, for realism.

"You can talk to me, you know," he tried a different approach. "I know it's hard, but we can still support each other—"

"Support?" She scoffed out a laugh. "I don't need support, Simon. I need to be left alone. I'm fine, and I want to work on this eye."

"You don't look fine—"

"I'm fine!" She shouted this time, shifting from her seat so rushed that Simon even took a step back. Reactive. Out of fear. "If I wanted your pity, I would've asked for it."

"Pity? Is that what you think this is? We just lost Nathan—"

" _I_ just lost Nathan," she corrected, staring at him with harder eyes than he'd ever seen. They said all he needed to know.

"Right," Simon replied. "Right."

"Listen, I'm sorry—," Allie tried, but Simon was already pulling back, closer to the door.

"No, you're right. He was important to you, and what did I really matter? Honestly," Simon let out a bitter, pained laugh, "I can't even see why you picked me over him, if he was so important."

He said it. Saw the way it shattered Allie's facade and didn't turn back. He left the room before she could say anything more, and the door slam echoed out through the corridor. If that's how she felt, then that's how she felt. Things said in anger were often times truer than conversations under normal circumstances. She really felt as though Nathan was hers and only hers, that Simon had no real connection to him. Save, maybe, everything that had happened. But, she was entitled to that if she was so inclined. If she truly wanted to believe that Simon had no real care for Nathan, then he'd let her. Strength wasn't enough to spend time arguing how much he'd loved Nathan; how much it broke him apart to know that he was gone. Gone, and that Simon would carry his heart for as long as his systems would keep him alive.

That was the hardest thing to come to terms with, but Simon fell back into pace as soon as he was able. As soon as he let Allie's words sink out, and he could move from his spot. Then, he found life in normality somewhere. Andromeda had no words to spare for him when he made his way out into the main area of the ship. She looked at him, and he looked back. Something of a silent understanding. Something it would take longer to come to terms with than the day that it had barely been. Nathan could not have been saved.

 

May 23rd, 2037-

Allie and Simon hadn't spoken. Not once. Not even so much as a glance. She kept to herself, holed up in Nathan's own room—her room, now, maybe—and worked on her biocomponents. The eye wasn't cooperating, but that was the extent of Simon's knowledge. It came from a side comment during a conversation with Carter, because they were still talking. All of it felt very much like an argument Mikaela had told him about, so long ago. When she and Gale stopped talking for over a week—but it'd been a month, now. Androids were supposed to be superior, and pettiness was not exempt from that. Neither of them was willing to admit they missed the other. Allie did have more conversations with Andromeda though, and Simon was glad enough for that. As empty as it was, without her to talk to, he found solace elsewhere.

Except, there was only so much he could do. There were times where he wanted to be left alone. Even for as long as it had been, he hadn't moved on. He knew Allie hadn't either, just the look in her eyes. It was enough to know that she hadn't. Everyone else—no one else had had the same connection to Nathan that they did, even if Allie believed it was only her. They'd moved on. Back into the routine of life in Jericho. He found his own new routine, locked up in his room with Nathan's tablet. He'd cleaned everything else up, stashed it away where he didn't have to look at it anymore. Everything save the tablet, which he had propped up in his lap, legs crossed from how he was wedged up into the corner of the room, sitting atop a crate. He could've easily done this in his own head, but something about this felt more personal.

Like a sharper knife, when he searched through the word _Deviant_. He'd sworn this off months ago. He had. He really had, the moment he'd seen that news cast of Vincent spilling some fabricated sob story—but he needed this. He needed to feel that hurt from a source that wasn't Nathan. As if acknowledging that he could hurt without Nathan's memory meant something, so he sat there and scrolled through the articles. Deviant after deviant. Reports, news clippings. Deviant deactivated. Another android attack. Malfunctioning machines. Simon clenched his fist into his shirt. As strange as it was, in that moment, he felt cold.

The shirt was new, the button up he'd gotten after his unfortunate repair. The sweatshirt was still folded up in the corner of his bed, stained with thirium and mocking him. Vincent's sweatshirt. Android shot during raid, the next article read, and Simon glanced over at the sweatshirt again. An AP700 model shot in her own home; owners claimed that she'd attacked them upon being ordered to pick up their child from school. Simon didn't believe it. Didn't want to believe it, but he looked over the ghastly picture of her face. Stained in blue, wide and lifeless eyes. She looked sad. Like the world had somehow lost her, abandoned her, and death was her reward. What had she done to deserve that?

Simon looked at that sweatshirt.

HR400 destroyed at Eden Club when he refused to partake in a guest's fantasy. No ceremonious departure, he'd just been shut down. The memory wipes were supposed to prevent this, the journalist wrote, and posed a question of what would Eden Club owners do to prevent this in the future? The patron hadn't even been injured, but the comments were horrific. Simon glanced through them. People demanding that they all be destroyed until CyberLife can send new units to replace them, to prevent further incident. Completely unnecessary. They hadn't done anything to deserve that, none of them did. It wasn't even his fault he'd deviated. Simon understood that feeling—needing to say no. He remembered it.

Remembered when Vincent had undressed him in the laundry room, slid his hands along his waist. How much he'd needed to step away, to say no—but he couldn't. There was programming in his way, and some god-awful feeling in his chest that kept him from it. It's what he'd done to deserve what he got, after all. Not trying hard enough to keep Vincent away. Until he'd ripped apart their family, and he was grabbing the sweatshirt before he'd even realized what he was doing. The material was cold and worn, and it no longer smelled like Vincent. But, Simon pressed it to his face anyway. He _remembered_ the way Vincent had pushed him inside the master bedroom, onto the bed. Turned, shut, and locked the door.

Simon slumped against the wall, legs hanging out over the edge of the crates and let his eyes close. He could play the memory back behind his eyelids. Watch, _feel_ , everything he'd let Vincent do. The touch of his fingertips against Simon's thighs. His bare thighs. Vincent had complete and total control—Simon had just let him have it. Have him. Hadn't tried to say no. Handed over everything he was and let Vincent do as he pleased, and with each passing second of the memory, he could feel Vincent's touch over his skin. The strange fiery sensations that trickled down to the very tips of his fingers. Everything he'd let happen.

Everything that had come of it.

The retribution he'd wrought when his castle came crashing down around him. An end of his own design.

He deserved everything he'd escaped. Deactivation. Recycled. Destroyed. Left to rot in the junkyard for the rest of eternity, as long as his heart would function.

There were tears streaming down his face when he finally opened his eyes. Sweatshirt now left, forgotten on the floor. Though his sight was blurred now, he picked the tablet back up and searched for something specific. He used the pen to work the tablet, because he'd never been very good just using his fingers. He liked to be able to see the entire screen, and his hand tended to prevent that. Nathan had laughed at him, but there was something so deviant about his preferences that nobody ever said much about it. Still, when the video feed popped up on the screen. Simon's mind went blank.

_Don't hurt him._

Simon jolted when he felt something snap between his fingers. The sudden shock of pain was enough to pull him out of his self-inflicted stupor. No blood, which was good, but when he saw the broken pen in his hand—that seemed like the end. That seemed like it was enough to ruin everything, as simple as it was, and Simon's tears fell faster. Some unhelpful warning popped up that he was low on fluids, but that was for the best. He didn't _want_ to cry anymore, and he wasn't risking another run outside of Jericho for artificial tears. It wasn't important. He'd rather not be able to cry, now, looking at the pen. He let the tablet clatter to the floor in favor of just holding the pen.

This was all that was left of Nathan, and he'd destroyed it. Let his emotions get the better of him and broken the pen with strength he didn't really know entirely that he possessed. Everything was wrong, haywire, like he didn't fit right in his own mind anymore. So many thoughts passed through and were aborted. Bad thoughts. Thoughts he shouldn't have been having—how he could right this, how he could set the course back on track and find himself at the bottom of a pit instead. Where he belonged. Maybe turn himself in, let the authorities decide his fate. Go back and beg for Vincent to take him. Anything—anything at all, but this pen just stared back with all the judgment it could muster. Simon could hear Nathan's voice pounding in the back of his head.

_Why am I the one that had to die?_

This was the truth, wasn't it? Jericho wasn't a safe place. It was a holding cell until, inevitably, death would come and take them all. Shut down and nothing much for aftercare. Not for androids, in whatever messed up ways a human thought of an afterlife. It was just a power switch, stuck in the off position. They would die out there or in Jericho. It didn't matter. There was no safety, not in a world of humans. Not when Nathan had been so safe inside of Jericho—Allie and Simon risking their lives to keep things that way, and he still was no better off than the HR400 in the article. Shut down without fanfare and lifeless. What did it really matter, then, Simon's actions? He'd shut down eventually, just like the rest of them. It led him to the strangest thought he could've had.

Replace the pen.

In the month since they'd lost Nathan, Simon hadn't stepped a single foot outside of Jericho. Too afraid, too upset. Something had been standing in his way like that bright red wall of code, but it was gone now. As long as nobody saw him go, he'd be free. Andromeda might stop him. Allie might even break out of her silence to keep him from going—even she was questioning the point of leaving Jericho now. But, if he went after they'd all stowed away for the evening. Maybe he'd bring back the pen, maybe he wouldn't, maybe he wouldn't come back at all. Nobody would mind either way, no matter the outcome. It was better than sitting in this prison cell and waiting for something to happen to him. Better to seek it out himself than just wait.

That was how he found himself walking through the halls of Jericho at some odd time after eleven. When he knew they'd all stepped off to their places for the night, and nobody would be there to stop him, or to even see him go. Footsteps were masked underneath the common sound of Jericho settling, the ship shifting in the water. The thudding of metal was just white noise, compared to what else might hint at life happening within the walls. Simon didn't bother to walk quietly, but maybe just a touch out of rhythm. To mask what was likely a set walking pattern. The more it wasn't normal, the more it wasn't his, the easier it would be to walk anywhere in Jericho.

If he ever came back.

If Andromeda was watching from her perch, Simon didn't notice, or she didn't say anything. He walked from the door, through the halls and up the stairs, then outside without stopping once. Without looking back. Without hesitating. He walked like he had a limp in his step until he reached the door, and then didn't bother with closing it quietly. He slammed it behind him and was met by the cool, brisk air of the evening. Dark, a little chilly, but bearable. Simon missed wearing the sweatshirt; the more his body became accustomed to feeling, the more he realized how sensitive he was to temperature. It wasn't just pain. Such a hassle.

He knew the way well enough by now, but he wasn't going to the dumpster. He wouldn't ever go back to that CyberLife store. Not on his own, at least. If Allie ever spoke to him again and wanted to try, he might consider it. But that place wasn't safe. Not under the new threat of death. How close they'd both come to dying—he remembered the face of that officer, whoever he was. He'd been prepared to shoot to kill. Simon hadn't seen his thirium pump regulator, but he was sure it had been utterly destroyed. If that man ever saw them again, they wouldn't make it out alive. Simon took a different route, where he should have gone straight, he took a right turn and stayed with the sidewalk. A way he'd never been before, but as long as he could return to Jericho, it didn't matter where he went.

Returning to Jericho wasn't in his parameters this time, either. Wandering was easier with that in mind. If he didn't find Jericho again, it was just as well. Being left out alone with his thoughts was far preferable at this rate. Forgetting about everything that had happened. It was still eating him up inside, thinking about all of it. About Allie, in particular. The way she just never spoke about anything. It wasn't the first time. And he remembered quite fondly that moment they had on the roof of Jericho, when she told him, in tears, the full truth about her past. It had been so raw, so real, so genuine that Simon was near convinced he'd imagined it. The Allie he knew kept to herself, kept things bottled up inside, and somehow stole sympathy when the time was right. But, it was unimportant. He'd never have to worry about it again, if something were to happen.

He wasn't actively searching out something to happen. That would've been a little too much for his processors to handle. Too strong of an emotion to really comprehend what it meant. Or what it might have led to. But, there was certainly no strive of objective to combat anything which held a possibility of happening. Simon just stuck his hands in his pockets and walked, kept his head down and his eyes stagnant. He'd barely remembered to grab his hat before he walked out of his room, and having it now made him feel a little better. He stuck out more, outside of the role of some cute couple walking down the street at night. At least no one could tell he was an android at first glance, if they weren't looking too hard.

A part of him even hoped that someone would, though. That officer in the CyberLife store had taken one glance at him and known he was an android—just by his face. And he'd shot another officer. If he ever saw another one, he'd be killed on sight. Where there might have been hope of at least time enough to plead a case or to say a few final words before shutdown, Simon knew there'd be none of that. He didn't even know if she'd survived the bullet wound—he'd tried to forget about it. Not quite enough that he wanted to actively seek out an officer, though, or break into another store. He just walked on. Took an arbitrary turn somewhere down the line and crossed the street.

Every step took him just a little farther away from the pressed together buildings and their claustrophobia. Every step, and he recognized the area eventually. The back way that Bruce had taken them through when they first found him. Simon would never be quite far enough way to recognize nothing, unless he somehow found himself across the river, on another side of Detroit, or even in another state. Country. Anything. Recognition was starting to hurt more than he really needed to, and if he could will that useless pain away, he just might have.

A nagging feeling always somehow wedged its way into his thoughts. Some ideal that it'd be alright as long as he was still able to perform his main objective, which had always been to take care of people. Like he'd taken care of Mikaela, and he'd never missed her more than he did trudging through the grass. Nathan was almost the same, but his needs had been different. Simon still thought he'd done a well enough job—but now. He'd tried to take care of Allie, and she'd shut him out. Like she always did. Everyone else could take care of themselves. Simon clenched his fist into his jacket and stopped to lean up against a tree. The feeling, after all this time, had a name. He was tired.

Only, there was a sudden shuffling that roused him out of his apparent exhaustion. A sound that was horrifically similar to footsteps, in a way that had Simon's heart racing once again. Nervousness. Maybe even fear. This area, not quite unlike an abandoned park, was just that. Abandoned. Right outside the old construction area, which had been closed off for some time at the whim of a police investigation. Save for Simon, the area should have been empty. But that noise. Ever persistent in its shuffling, in the crunch of half dead grass and sticks. Footsteps. Simon pushed away from the tree and caught his own breath in his throat, swallowing it back down and stilling. He watched, through the heavy hanging darkness, and waited.

The noise was getting closer, and Simon could see the man now. Shuffling on through the trees and grabbing onto the ones closest for support. A stutter in his footsteps. Holes in his clothes. A flashing red LED on his temple. Simon jolted to life in an instant, dashing across the open area. Little care for the chance they might be spotted. Only that this was an android. An android that was dripping thirium from his nose and along his wounded arm. He collapsed just in time for Simon to grab onto his shoulders, but the weight of the other android took them both down. This android was taller, maybe not so much bigger, but taller. And the shock had Simon's knees buckling before he could really think what to do.

He turned the body over in his arms, to look at him. His LED was still blinking. Flashing. Circling a bright, panicked red that could only mean one thing. If the thirium dripping down from his nostrils wasn't enough indicator; something was horribly wrong. Outside from the visible injuries. His arm. A twist in his ankle, Simon noticed, and a plastered white area on the side of his face where he'd no doubt been struck. His body was already trying to pull itself back together, but if that could outrun the damage caused was left up entirely to chance. Simon had no way of knowing how long the android had.

"Hey," Simon tried. "Can you hear me? Can you see me?"

The android shifted slightly, the smallest turn of his head to look more squarely at Simon. Where maybe he couldn't work his mouth, this did. A small response that yes, he could hear and see Simon. Not all was lost. Not yet. Not if he acted fast—which meant. Simon sucked in a deep breath. Giving up seemed like an ideal option, but it was selfish. Selfish in the way that Simon was still lingering on feelings he hadn't quite given a name. He might have peeled back his skin and learned the android's dying story before sitting off to die himself. Disgusting. Weak. He made a different choice.

"I'm going to take you to safety. Can you stand?" Simon was already shifting to get his feet underneath him instead of his knees. The android didn't answer so much as he did move to assist. It took a combined effort to get him off the ground, but he stood eventually. Leaning most of his weight on Simon.

"My name is Simon," Simon told him, and waited not a second longer before he started to walk. They'd have to be quick and take the long way around, if only for the android's painfully obvious LED. His clothes were normal, a t-shirt and a pair of jeans, a sweatshirt tied around his hips. Simon couldn't fathom why he was wearing normal clothes and didn't so much care to ask.

A minute into walking, the android gasped out himself, in reply: "Josh."

The android's name was Josh. And he was going to be alright, if Simon had anything to say about. From there, Simon would figure out what to do with himself. Josh was his top priority now, even as he struggled to keep Josh upright. Josh's legs still seemed to be in working order, but he was weak and in desperate need of repairs. If Simon could do them himself, he wouldn't have worried so much, but there was only one android he trusted enough with this. He could only hope that she'd talk to him, if it meant saving Josh's life. Surely, they had enough parts lying around to help him. With all the androids who had perished within the walls of Jericho. Hopefully, Josh wouldn't be one of them.

The journey was longer, more tedious, than it might have otherwise been, but eventually, Simon lugged Josh aboard the ship. It was there that he had to take a break. If only to open the door, which he couldn't do with both his arms keeping Josh standing. In turn, Josh collapsed up against the wall and let his head hit back into the metal. Simon ignored his own warning messages. Overload. Too much strain. It didn't matter. He forced the door open. Standing Josh back up was harder than it had been the first time, but they eventually managed. Then, it was through the long winding corridors. Dark, musty, dripping with water in some places from where the moisture in the air just collected. Not an ideal place for anyone to live, but they weren't human. They could deal with it.

Simon imagined the sounds they produced through walking sounded much like the initial arrival of Erin and Carter. Where Carter had been wounded enough that their bouncing about the metal halls has created a racket. Only this time, they were falling into walls when Josh needed a break, to catch himself and find whatever last bit of resolve he'd already used up. How he was still going, Simon didn't know, but was glad for it. He didn't think he'd have the strength built into him to carry Josh the rest of the way. Not like how Allie had done for him. It was just a tedious maneuver. Dragging and stopping and pulling—until they reached the bottom. The door. Simon all but crashed through it.

Just as he suspected, they were waiting for them. Wide eyes and confusion. Not a single look of relief or worry: not for Simon. He preferred that. Allie's look was one of mortification at the state they were in. Simon's shirt had been new and was now stained down the front with thirium. Josh's condition as deteriorating by the second.

"Allie—please," Simon's voice came out in broken static like breaths, and Allie rushed towards them without a second thought. Josh all but fell into her arms, and she didn't give. Instead, without waver, she took him over to the crates and hoisted him up.

Simon didn't help her this time, with the work. Nor did he crowd around in some overabundance of misplaced worry over an android who needed _space_ , so the mechanic could work. No. Simon stepped off to the side and found himself a quiet place to sit on the stair case. Pleasantly out of the way, but from where he could still look out if he felt so incline to watch the progress. Whoever Josh was, wherever he'd come from, he hadn't felt any need to share his information with Simon—like the others had—which meant he at least still had some hope he'd make it through. Some bright shimmer of hope that he'd make it, and this would be his safe haven. Jericho was nothing like that.

 

May 24th, 2037

Not a single joint, fiber, or wire in Simon's body moved for the better rest of the evening. He just watched the time tick on well past midnight and into the early hours of the morning. Clanging and frustrated grunts rung through the hollow room, Allie barking orders. All so familiar and yet painfully far away. Simon listened and did not move. Not until Bruce had stepped over and blocked what little light there was to gather by. The mass of his body was enough to nearly hide the room from sight, but Simon could still tell something had changed. Something felt different in the air, but he didn't mention it aloud. He just took Bruce's hand and let himself be yanked up off the stairs and dragged out into the middle of the room.

Where he noticed. Josh was standing upright. Smiling. Softy. Staring forward as Simon rounded the room and stepped out from behind Bruce. Allie was furiously wiping at her hands, her face already smeared with thirium. Her clothes worse off than before. Josh hadn't needed any critical repairs, from the small pile of discarded components, but Simon's fear hadn't been misplaced. That much, he was sure of. He moved forward after yanking his hand from Bruce's grasp and stuck it out for Josh, instead. Who returned the half-hearted handshake with a weak smile.

"He'll be out of it for a bit," Allie spoke before Josh could open his mouth. "Take him back to a room and let him rest." Professional. Hurt welled up in his chest, but Simon ignored it and did as he was told.

They didn't talk until Simon had found an empty room for Josh to sit down in, but Josh didn't sit. He stood there, still, playing with the sleeve of his sweatshirt and looking rather stiff. This was new, uncomfortable, and there was so much hanging in the air for him to say. What could he possibly say that would somehow encompass all that had happened in the past few hours? So many options, and none of them would really do what he needed.

"Thank you," he settled, then cleared his throat to rid the last bits of static. "You saved my life."

"I think Allie did—"

"No, you did," Josh interrupted, corrected, and took a step closer as he spoke. "I don't know if I ever would've made it here if not for you. This is Jericho, isn't it?"

Simon nodded.

"I heard about it from a passing android, and," he stopped to take a long, drawn out breath, "I knew this was the only place I could escape to. But, I don't think I would've made it. Not in that condition."

Simon sniffed and shrugged his shoulders. "I was happy to help. Where did you come from, anyway?"

The air was comfortable now, and Josh took that time to sit down on the cot like bed with his knees pressed together and folded hands. There was room beside him, intentional, in hopes that Simon might sit with him. But, Simon stayed standing. Near the door in his ever apparent need to flee from a new situation. His intentions remained unclear, however, to his own benefit, and Josh still smiled at him.

"The university. I'm a PJ500 model; I lectured."

Great. Simon stiffened. "What about?"

"History. Not horribly interesting, I know. It was an introductory class," he explained, and watched tentatively as Simon's shoulders visibly dropped in relief. An introductory history class was on an entirely different spectrum than a third-level psychology class.

"How long were you there?"

"Six years," Josh didn't miss a beat, but looked back down at his hands. "It's not as bad as some androids have it, I know, but when you're stored up in a closet like a mop—" he cut himself off and just shrugged. Turn it off-and-back-on-again Lecturer. Cut down on university costs. They wouldn't need as many part-time faculty and could focus on maintaining a high standard for tenure. It made sense, financially. Simon had never heard Vincent talk about it, though. Teacher androids. Reasonably, he knew they existed, but he'd never spent much time thinking about it.

"What about you?" Josh asked.

"Childcare unit," Simon replied, but he didn't elaborate. Josh sensed his discomfort immediately and offered a sympathetic head nod.

"Sorry about your shirt, by the way. I guess—well."

"It's nothing," Simon hadn't even realized the state of his dress, either. Josh didn't accept his dismissal though. He stood up and closed the distance in a few long strides, while untying the knotted sleeves of the sweatshirt around his waist. He offered it over.

"I don't really need it. It'll cover that up."

Sickeningly, Simon recognized the blue of the fabric and reached out for it tentatively. Sure enough, when the sweatshirt dropped open, the University of Detroit logo was splayed across it. In better shape than the one he had, but the same sweatshirt nonetheless. Simon felt his stomach drop and was near disgusted at how fast he shed his jacket to slip the sweatshirt over his head. Now there was the collar of his shirt to mess with, but he straightened up nicely and pulled his jacket back over. Even in the end, he was desperate to remember.

"Thank you," Simon's voice was not sound near as shaky as he felt.

"Don't mention it. It's the least I can do."

"You should probably rest now," Simon needed to get out of here. He could feel something bubbling up in the back of his throat that would be better dealt with in his own room. Alone. Josh agreed with his statement and sat down.

"Is it true, though?" Josh asked, just before Simon could close the door behind him. "Can we really be free, here?"

Simon shut the door and did not answer. He couldn't. Not like this. Too afraid he'd say something that he regretted and ruin Josh's perception forever. That wouldn't be fair to either of them. So, he just left. Hurried across the way and back to his own room, where he was ready to release the breath he was holding and collapse on the ground. Happy to have a sweatshirt so identical to the one he'd lost, chose to forget; panicked at the same time over the memories. Only.

"Simon," Allie looked at him, and there as sympathy in her eyes this time. Worry. Concern. He didn't want it. Didn't deserve it. "Simon, I can't believe you did that. How could you? You could've gotten hurt, or killed, or—"

"I'm fine," it was a blatant lie, but Allie didn't mention it. She just shook her head.

"I'm glad you came back." He hadn't wanted to. It'd kill her to know that, so he didn't share. "It's been too long a time coming, but I wanted—I'm sorry, Simon. For, well, everything," she shrugged and rubbed her arms. "I shouldn't have said what I said. You cared about Nathan, and his death hurt us all."

His death. Not his shutdown.

When Allie approached, Simon didn't turn her away. She collapsed into his arms and it felt so much like coming home that he cried. He cried for her, for himself, for this nagging want in the back of his mind for the past. For the future. He held onto her with all the strength he could muster, and they collapsed into the floor together. Sad, pathetic, truly two unalike any others. By the time she pulled back, they were both outwardly weeping.

"We can't lose faith," she whispered, squeezing her fingers into Simon's arm. "I'm so sorry."

One moment of one day wouldn't change a place he'd been approaching for months now. That Jericho was no safe haven. That this was their final prison cell on their way to whatever waited beyond a shutdown. Nothing, maybe, or everything. It didn't matter. Jericho was their last supper, but that didn't mean it had to be a terrible place where Simon couldn't forgive Allie and talk with her again. He'd missed her, painfully. From the look on her face, he could only assume she felt the same way. She did, and she buried her face into his neck again.

"I like the sweatshirt."

He didn't, "me too," he still smiled. Held her impossibly tighter and pressed his nose into her hair. "It's Josh's."

"You saved him, you know."

Simon did, now. He knew, and he nodded against her. Whatever saving Josh meant would be left for another day, for another Simon to deal with. All the panic he'd let built up died right there, in Allie's arms, and he felt like he could breathe again. They'd just lost Nathan, not each other, not Jericho, and Allie had proved that Simon was at least wanted. Maybe not needed, like he wanted, but wanted nonetheless. Even if they hadn't realized at the time that he as gone, seeing him come bursting through that door must have been nothing short of panic inducing. Even now, Allie's LED was bright red and pulsating with every shuddering breath she took.

"We should probably rest," he suggested, quietly. Every breath and move of his lips tickled into her hair, and she pulled back eventually. "It's been too long."

"Too long indeed—Josh was a mess," she sniffed and wiped at her eyes. "I'm glad you brought him here. He seems nice."

"I hope so."

Allie eyed him, curious, but didn't ask. Simon had talked with him more than any of them, he should have known beyond the hope that Allie did, but still, hope was the word he had used. Another problem for another Allie, as this one leaned forward and slapped her hands on either of Simon's cheeks, just to stare at him a second longer. Bright, blue eyes.

"Don't do that again, Simon. Not without me. We go together," the pleading in her voice was obvious. Whatever she meant in her final statement, though, Simon didn't know. Didn't care to know. Instead, he bit Allie the best night she could have, with or without rest. However, she felt like she might play that herself.

Simon moved to sit on his bed, and he breathed. There was no need, now, to remember Vincent. Just another memory he could push to the back of his head and look past, for now. Maybe Josh could even overwrite the memory of a bad University faculty member. Tiredness overtook him, though, and even if it wasn't quite sleeping, it was time away from the stimulus that the world over-offered. A time where his skin didn't prickle when touched, and his eyes didn't strain to see through the darkness of Jericho. Time to himself, to his thoughts. As close to sleeping as he would ever get, and he found he liked it. Four-hundred and sixty-three days. Simon slept sitting up, the shard of metal safely back on his makeshift nightstand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oof is that;;; a wild Joosh?  
> [CyberShips Tower](https://discord.gg/T7sW7DB)  
> [Check Out My Tumblr If You Want To See More](https://tantumuna.tumblr.com)  
> 


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And I'm back with another chapter weeeeeee. School is kicking my ass. Work is kicking my ass. My own ass is kissing my ass at this point. Somehow, I will make it to December. Thanks for keeping up with my wild upload schedule.
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> As promised, though, the porny spinoff of this story is ready and you can read it [here.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15966287/chapters/37239767) No, I don't regret a thing.

June 1st, 2037-

The first, and most important, thing that Simon learned about Josh was his unprecedented capacity for care and understanding. Which was something Simon hadn't expected, not outright, even as Josh had made himself comfortable inside of Jericho. He was universally liked within their small band. Always something kind on his lips, and his touch was at least gentle. He helped where help might have not even been needed, but always appreciated. It was when Simon had looked up one day and seen him leaning with his back up against the rail of the rafters that he wondered just what Josh got up to, because Andromeda never really spoke to anyone. But, there she was, smiling for the first time in months as Josh spoke something in quiet. Like it was comfortable and normal, and there was just something about normality that Simon couldn't quite feel at the moment.

From where he stood, sat really, on the crates where Carter was drawling on in some wide and far-fetched story from his time as a maintenance worker, Josh was something different. Josh was there when Simon was ready to give up and call it quits, on everything. On Jericho, on himself, on the hope that he'd ever get to see Mikaela again—all of it. Without a care past would a suitable way to shutdown find him and do it swiftly. Only, Josh had been there, and Simon had found himself walking back into Jericho. Nothing felt right anymore. Nothing felt even remotely the same as it had, not since the moment he'd pulled that trigger in the CyberLife store and woke up with Nathan's heart beating on in his chest. Felt like a flaw in his code somewhere that just wouldn't allow him to process anything that he'd been through.

Maybe he'd talk to Allie, but what good would that do? Allegedly, she'd moved on from Nathan and was still fiddling around with that damn optical unit. To dredge up the past seemed cruel and unusual of him, even if she hadn't quite moved on as well as she was letting on. Staying quiet and bottling up was just the way she handled her issues, and if she could handle them well enough on her own, in the fretful silence of it all, then Simon was no one to tell her to handle it otherwise. Carter seemed even less of an option, when Simon glanced at him. He hadn't had the same connection to Nathan, as much as he probably cared about him. He certainly hadn't been in that CyberLife store; had no real reason to understand the feeling of dread in Simon's stomach when he thought about Jericho and where they should go. Last of Simon's _friends_ , might he dare hope to dream, Bruce would listen. Of that, he had no doubt. But rather, he needed more than listening. He needed someone to understand.

"Simon, you even still in there?" Carter was shaking him by the shoulder just a second later, and Simon jolted in response.

"Sorry," immediately.

"Wasn't that good of a story anyway," his voice betrayed him the glee in his smile, so Simon pressed differently.

"It's not your story—I'm sorry. I'm preoccupied, is all. I love listening," he muttered the last part, slouched his shoulders and leaned on where he hugged his elbows to his body. Carter's hand sat like support on his back; Simon smiled to himself.

"That's fine. I know you got a lot on your plate. You ever tired that whole me-time thing I introduced you to? You know, relaxation?"

Simon choked on a laugh, "No—No, I haven't. Too much going on."

"There's literally nothing going on," Carter gestured out to the emptiness before them. "It's all in your head. Sort it out, yeah? I think if I tell the same story to Bruce again he'll throw me overboard."

"I doubt it," Simon muttered, missing entirely the joy Carter was trying to shove him. So, Carter just shrugged and jumped down off the crates. He stayed long enough to help Simon down, but left him to his own devices after that. To which Simon decided that a walk around the hull of Jericho was well and due. It had been some time since he wandered farther down below deck. It might help him clear his head, if nothing else.

If nothing else, the bottom levels of Jericho were lonely and dark. Simon didn't have to think to traverse them, barely had to look. All he had to do was lose himself in it, and that was fine. For long enough, and then some, until Simon found a relatively intact staircase to sit and rest, as if he needed rest. There was still something to be said for the stiffness in his joints, but that had always come and gone. It was nothing too terribly new, something he remembered without fanfare from his days of carting Mikaela around.

He wondered, briefly, what she'd think of him now. Now that he'd been the recipient of what might have been murder—he had no idea how alive Nathan was when Allie stole his heart. Was he already shut down, or had they told him that to keep him complacent? Now, he may have been a murderer himself. When he thought on it, he could still feel the gun in his hand, and wished that he would not think of it anymore. Wishing was well and good when it came to some conclusion, but Simon was incapable of forgetting. Might that he learned to dwell on something else, but there was a certain comfort he was starting to find in things that hurt. At least enough that it might keep him distracted long enough to pass the time, now that there wasn't much in the way of anything for him to do. Aside from talking, listening, watching Allie fiddle. He didn't have any hobbies. Save those tally marks he kept on the wall, but one second a day was hardly enough.

Eventually, he had to drag himself up from his stupor and finish climbing the staircase. Each step felt like a feat all in of itself, but he made it to the top and continued the rest of his less than a walk. It was more something of a stumble, though he hadn't fallen this time around. A part of him wished he had, then maybe there'd be more of an excuse to talk to someone. Maybe if he fell enough, they'd see the first android to ever scar. That thought alone at least made him smile, but it had disappeared by the time he reached the corridor to his room and Josh was standing in the way. Not menacingly, not even at all on purpose. They were just crossing paths, but Josh suddenly looked at him with a bout of inquisitiveness Simon didn't expect.

"Are you alright?" he asked.

"I—what?" Simon was crying before he'd even processed what Josh had said. The first person to have actually really noticed that something was horrifically off and cared enough to ask—in Simon's mind only. He hadn't taken the time to look at his own face before and didn't know what sorts of emotions he wore right out on his sleeve. But Josh knew. Josh knew enough to take him by the arm and slip into the nearest open door, out of the way where nobody would have to see this sudden pathetic display. Simon furiously scrubbed at his face. Ridiculous.

"Simon?"

"It's nothing—nothing you'd understand," Simon collapsed, defeated, onto the closest thing. A shipping container.

"Try me," Josh seemed receptive, if nothing else, and sat across the way from Simon. Gave him space, which was far more than anyone else had done at the moment. Still, Simon only stared at him while his vision tried to get itself in check through the tears he couldn't seem to stop. After the longest moment, Josh just sighed.

"I never told you what happened, did I? When you found me? I know it's been awhile, but maybe if you hear something from me, this won't have to be so strange," he gestured between them. The space. The silence. The heavy air. Simon didn't respond, so Josh took another deep breath. To relieve the stress.

"I was attacked. Some students. They were in my class, too, which somehow made it worse. These were students who knew me, and I thought were fond of me. Alcohol can make humans very different."

Simon knew that well enough. The first time he'd ever known Tanya didn't hate him was several glasses of wine deep. Vincent had taken his own direction. Simon hated it.

"They were drunk. I don't know what led to it. Part of me wants to know, but part of me likes the ignorance. I can still believe that it wasn't because they hated androids," Josh smiled to himself, seemed to curl in closer and hug at his elbows. Simon noted it all—Josh was making himself smaller. Josh was afraid. "They just _attacked_ me. I thought I was going to die.

"That's when this happened," he gestured to himself, idly, and returned to gripping at his arms, "whatever this is. We're not supposed to hurt humans, I know that. But in that moment—I had to fight back. One of them had a bat, and I know they would've done something bad if I hadn't…" he trailed off and hung his head. "She'll be alright, I mean. But. I ran after that, to get away. Eventually, the damage caught up with me. I was sure I was going to die."

Then, there was silence. Josh didn't move, didn't lift his head to look at Simon again, just mulled something over with a slight movement in his lips like he was mumbling to himself, then continued.

"I wanted to tell you when you found me. Just give you the data and let whatever would happen, happen. But that felt like I was giving up, and I _still_ don't want to die."

"Maybe Jericho isn't the place for you then," Simon muttered before he'd even checked the words. The tears had stopped, at least.

Josh only looked at him strangely.

Simon broke down and told Josh everything he could manage to speak. The runs with Allie. The way Andromeda had judged them so harshly for it, and how it had almost ended in their death. His death. But didn't he deserve it, in the end? He'd shot that officer, and unlike Josh, he was so unsure if that officer had lived that it had plagued him every day since. It had just been a reflex. He'd done it without preamble and without thought. Picked up her gun and shot her, then ran. Without time to even see where he'd shot, to recognize the damage. Even knowing she had died would be better than just wondering, but what sat heavier was his own capacity to do something like that. It wasn't just that he didn't know her fate, but that he was an android designed to take care of people. Not to attack them. Much less to _kill_ them. He never thought he was capable of perpetrating such an act, yet here he was. Complacent in it, in his own way, and even more so what had happened afterward.

He could justify it all he wanted with whatever means he could find. That man was going to shoot Allie. If not him, it would've been Allie—so why not him? Save the fact that Allie provided some actual worth, while he had only managed to cause problems since he had arrived, it was essentially the same trade. Allie might have been shot less drastically though, she was so much shorter than him. A shot to his thirium pump regulator might have landed completely harmlessly in Allie, but there were too many variables for Simon to determine the validity of that thought. It was just another piece of corrupt data, causing him to see things that maybe weren't there—feel things that had him wishing that deviancy had never occurred. What happened, had happened, and no amount of justification would take away what sorts or horrid acts he'd let himself be involved with that evening.

"You shooting an officer is no different than my attacking a student," Josh wrung his hands together. "It's self-defense."

"I shouldn't even be able to do that," Simon pressed on, sure in himself that he was wrong. He had done something wrong. It's all he was capable of. It's what lost him his relatively easy life with Mikaela, wasn't it?

"Your programming doesn't mean anything anymore. You have to find your own way. You were just defending yourself."

Maybe. Simon folded his hands together and squeezed.

"That doesn't excuse anything else," Simon argued instead.

"Doesn't it?" Josh seemed so certain. "Everything you told me was just defense. You were protecting Allie. I don't know how much she means to you, but it sounds like you were willing to die for her. That's nothing to be ashamed of."

"I'm not ashamed. I'm just—" how did he put it into words? How could he possibly formulate enough letters to say what he was feeling? "It shouldn't have been me."

Josh tilted his head.

"Nathan should've survived. I don't know why they picked me. I don't—I'm not worth that," he gripped his fingers into the back of his neck now, hunched over in his own lap and trying to keep himself calm. "I went out there that night because I thought—there's no reason for me to be here. They wouldn't be worse off if I never returned. It'd be fine. I wanted to—I wanted to—" but he couldn't say it.

Josh seemed to understand, "but you found me instead." Somehow, he looked proud of himself. He stood and moved to come and sit beside Simon, with a hand on his shoulder to try and ease the tension there. "I'm glad, then. It's the least I can do in return for your help. You saved me. I guess I saved you too, didn't I?" Oddly proud of himself.

Simon couldn't help himself anymore. He smiled, though the laugh sounded more like a sputtered sob, Josh understood.

"So, Allie?" Josh muttered and let his hand drop off of Simon's shoulder, back down to his lap.

"The greatest friend I could've ever asked for," Simon replied. "I helped her take care of Nathan. We got attached, I guess," and he really was smiling now. Talking about Allie. The strange sort of broken but tied together family they'd managed to make. He wanted that again. That family. A family. Any would do, as long as it felt the same. Felt safe.

Simon remembered, fondly afterward, how passing the time was so much easier with another person. When he finally returned to his own room, he was left feeling better than he had before. The stress relief was enough as it was but having someone really talk and understand what he'd been through. It'd been nice. Even if Simon hadn't found the strength to fully believe everything that Josh had said—that they were similar in their situations. Self defense. More alike than Simon might have seen before. He knew at least now that Josh was not what had kept him from a chosen path, but what had kept him on the right one, for now.

 

July 5th, 2037-

Somehow, against the odds of growing in a ship, the little plant was surviving very well. Bruce's secret was kept up in his silence and frequent disappearances. For a large man, the amount of space he took up just by existing, he was easy to lose track of if you weren't watching. He had quiet footsteps and knew just what parts of the ship were quietest. Of all things, Simon found that he really enjoyed the silence. It was just the air that Bruce gave off, something of comfort, and he never asked many questions. When he looked up and Simon was waiting in the doorway of his room, Bruce just smiled. Always less of a smile and more of a smirk, but Simon just figured that's the way his face was put together. Not every human could smile just right, so it would've cut the realism in half if all Androids did everything perfect—and that being that many androids faces had been designed from real faces. Simon was sure there was no human who looked anything like him, though. Not with how easily they'd been caught before just by a glance alone.

Bruce didn't say anything when he stepped out of the room with what just appeared to be a bucket, just seemed to expect Simon to follow him. And he did, because Simon had come just out of curiosity. To see what Bruce got up to on a normal day. And Bruce obviously had no real secrets to keep, it was just the way things seemed to go. Everyone was usually caught up with each other, where Bruce did little talking and too much listening. He'd heard enough of Carter's stories to last a life time, but he still found time to listen again. Something that nobody but Simon would also understand—because he listened to Carter not quite as often, but close enough. Nothing short of an entertaining time, if not a bit draining at the end of the day. Even Simon could find solace in this silence. For a moment, not longer.

"Where are we going?" Simon asked.

"You will see, Kitten," Bruce replied, and Simon rolled his eyes. He'd never get rid of that, no matter how hard he tried, pressed, and begged. He'd stopped trying—Bruce could be extremely convincing when he wanted to be.

So, Simon followed the rest of the way in silence. Even as they stepped outside of Jericho, through a door that Simon hadn't even been aware existed and were making their way across a wooden bridge that spanned the water, over to where the city began again. Everything fell right into place, as Simon watched Bruce fill the bucket. The plant had survived because Bruce took an inordinate amount of time in caring for it. Somehow, it got the water and the sunlight it needed. But, it really was just a plant. And this seemed like a lot of effort for something of little consequence. Simon had been so wrapped up in things with stake for so long, it sat strangely in his stomach as he watched.

"All this for a plant?" he hadn't meant for it to sound quite so distasteful. So rude. But Bruce didn't seem to mind the harshness of the sentence and only sat the bucket down on the concrete. He took a seat and let his legs dangle off the edge, where his feet nearly touched the water. They were outside in daylight, and that alone was enough to frighten Simon. The way it all seemed so casual for Bruce was even worse.

"For plant, yes. But plant was a gift," Bruce gave Simon a strange look, the way he just stood there stiff and uncomfortable, "it would be rude not to care for it."

"I suppose—"

"Stop being so frightened," Bruce interrupted and waved Simon over. "Nothing bad happen to you on my watch. Please, come and sit."

Simon did as he was told. He walked over to the edge of the walk and sat down, the bucket of water between them.

"I have been doing much thinking. There is much quiet time in Jericho to be filled with it," Bruce was stating the obvious, but Simon didn't stop him. "You say something to me many months ago, when I first arrive. And I think on what it is to have a nature, when we are what we are. You think androids just are programmed to act a certain way, but this deviancy seems to be stronger than program."

"Feels that way, at least."

"I become this way in order to protect fellow android, and regrettably, I failed. That is not to say I cannot protect other androids now, and maybe this feeling projects self onto plant. It is nice to have something alive in ship made entirely of metal."

Simon scoffed, but there was genuine joy on his face when Bruce looked. "I'm glad it means so much to you. Allie picked it up. Didn't even see her snatch it."

"I am ever glad for it. For Jericho, too. I know many bad things keep happening but is its bad things which led us here in first place. Now, bad energy is collected here."

"That sounds a little farfetched," Simon wanted to add on the ever-present fact that they were machines. But it seemed too insensitive a comment to make, and Bruce had a point, in his own strange way. Bad things had caused them to deviate, and bad things had driven them out of where their place had been. All that bad time had to release itself somewhere, maybe. Or, Bruce was having just as hard a time coping as Simon, and he just hadn't made it known yet. Simon glanced over at him. Bruce never seemed too troubled.

"Easier to believe everything has reason, for me, than to throw it to wind. Maybe it is selfish, but I am glad things have happened as they are. Even for something small as my plant."

Simon didn't want to agree, but something had him nodding. Just a part of him he wasn't ready to acknowledge. That he was happy he'd survived that night, even if it meant the death of Nathan. He was happy to still be alive. He wanted to keep being alive, for as long as he could manage. There was nothing so readily important that he was ready to give his life away. Not yet.

"I find myself missing the pup, you know," Bruce said, as he stood. "You are not alone in Jericho. Big place, lots of empty space to mope in. I understand. Easy to forget we are there and can give you aid," he picked up the bucket with such a gesture that he meant to say as well. Just as he would help the plant live. Simon certainly couldn't ignore how light it made him feel, and he stood up.

"All this talk for a plant," Simon wrapped his arms around himself and laughed. It was warm outside, for the hour, but somehow, he still felt a little chilled. Daylight would be ending soon, and maybe it was just the early come of an evening breeze.

"We should go inside now."

Simon wouldn't argue with that. Maybe the outdoors weren't as bad as he was remembering, at least, not with someone there with him. Simon harbored no doubts that Bruce would give anything to protect him, or anyone in Jericho. As he said, it was in his nature, so to speak. A nature to protect those around him. It had defined who he was, now, free. Certainly, something that might be said for all of them. He'd rather not think of himself, though.

Upon returning to Bruce's room, the first thing he did was water the plant, with just enough that Simon could see why this wasn't a daily trip. The bucket had enough in it to last as long as he needed, and it was eventually stored off in the corner where it would be safe from an accidental kick or lurch in the ship. Everything Bruce did, he did with a sort of care that Simon hadn't really expected when they first met. There were a few things he reserved that unbridled strength for, but they were few and far between. Simon had never seen him gently lift something, but that didn't so much matter.

"Do you ever go into Standby?" Simon asked, suddenly. Bruce's room was relatively bare, because it wasn't really _his_ room, as much as it was the only room where he'd been able to stick his plant by a window that got light every now and again. There were just a few lockers and a table.

"I do," Bruce replied, simply, and took a seat on the ground with a loud thump. "When there is need for it."

"Do you not…like it? I know Allie doesn't."

"For same reasons as the little lady, yes. When unneeded, we are turned off and stored like equipment. Very unnerving. Standby still feels the same, but I do not."

"What do you mean?" Simon leaned back on the table, perching himself there and folding his arms.

"Lately, I have had feeling as though I am more human than android," Bruce said, pointedly, staring up at Simon. "The memories of what Standby used to mean feel all too much."

Simon offered a smile and moved across the room to plop down on the floor beside Bruce. There was no bucket between them, this time, and their legs bumped as Simon found himself a comfortable position to sit in. Legs folded, arms draped out in front of them with his hands resting on his knees. He leaned back into the wall, still smiling, and watched with vague amusement at the spinning yellow of Bruce's LED. Like he was confused, though his facial expression had not changed from the solid stare.

"It's like sleeping, I think," Simon presented his own opinion without preamble, but Bruce certainly didn't mind. He even shifted, turned towards Simon and leaned forward. "Humans sleep, so I think of it like that. I know my experience with it was different, but maybe…?" Simon's face scrunched up when the thought passed that this was all entirely unprecedented. Sure, he hadn't had a room or any sort, but they'd never forced him to shut down. Never stored him away in a closet. He was essentially allowed to do as he pleased at night—he'd chosen to shut down. Bruce, Allie: they hadn't been given the choice.

"Maybe I should stop talking," Simon suddenly resigned and rubbed his fingers down the bridge of his nose.

"You are suggesting maybe I think of it differently?" Bruce continued regardless. "I did not consider that as an option. It was never a choice."

"I didn't consider that either," Simon admitted. "I had the choice to shut down or not, so it's probably not my place."

"Probably not," Bruce agreed, but before Simon could deflate, "but I do appreciate a different point of view. Perhaps I will even try."

"To sleep?"

Bruce nodded. "Though, I might ask something of you. I hope it is not too out of the ordinary."

Simon glanced at him.

"If I were to try this, tonight, perhaps. Would you think to stay with me?"

"You can just come to my room if that's what you want," Simon didn't miss a beat. It was any different than anything he'd ever done for Mikaela. For Nathan. Even Allie hadn't wanted to be alone when she went into Standby. But, his immediate acceptance visibly calmed Bruce down. This wasn't something Simon would've ever imagined coming out of him—this sort of fear of the dark, so to say—but everyone had their quirks, he supposed. He probably slept more than the average android, anyway.

Time passed well enough, then, but eventually something else was dragging them out of the room. Bruce hadn't decided when he was going to try an active Standby, but that conversation died when a ringing of bangs and thumps came echoing through Jericho. Like an ever-predictable call, when Simon and Bruce pushed out to the main room, there were others already there. Allie seemed to be at the forefront of it, again, with her fingers twitching on the off chance she'd have to jump right into action. They all knew what the noises meant by now, that there was an android making its way through the halls of the ship, confused and addled by the darkness, and possibly injured. The waiting was always painful and always anxious. Simon was sure he wasn't the only one, but he was plagued with thoughts that one day that clanging wouldn't be an injured android in search of help, but humans coming to destroy them.

His fear was, once again, unfounded. But when the android—androids—came crashing through the door, his fear disappeared entirely. His basest instincts seemed to kick in. There was a female android, an AP700. Like Vix, his memory so helpfully supplied, but that was unimportant. She was carrying a child. A little boy curled up in her arms and obvious thirium stains from what of his skin Simon could see. The AP700 looked undamaged. The child was an android. He vaguely registered Allie's voice behind him, calling out to someone, something. The same old routine. She would need to fix something. In the wake of it, Simon had made his way to the woman and the child and tried to usher them in. Another android appeared behind them.

A WG100. Carter. Simon blinked for a moment before shaking his head. It wasn't the first time he'd seen an identical android. Benjamin had looked exactly like the one from Tav's memories. Vix and this new AP700 were the same model, eerily similar, but not quite the same. Still, faces that he'd seen on billboards. In the CyberLife shop. But he'd never seen another Carter, and this new one stared back at him long enough that Allie was the one who finally broke through to him.

"Is he injured?" she was there, suddenly, at Simon's side helping to get the lady and this kid over to what might as well be Allie's new work bench. The crates.

"Yes—can you help him?" she was looking to Allie.

"Yeah, just let me take a look," she reached out to take the kid, but the lady stepped back. Simon scanned her again. AP700, designation: Angelica. The boy, a YK500, designation: Logan.

"Logan won't make it if we don't look at him," Simon tried, and the mention of a name had Angelica's head snapping towards him, eyes wide. Her LED was red, and Simon was only noticing now that some of the blood in her clothing was not blue. She'd seen something.

"I worked at a CyberLife store," Allie hoped sharing her _credentials_ might make the situation easier. "I know you're afraid for him, but I was designed to repair androids. He'll be safe with me, I promise," she tried to reach out again, but suddenly there were hands on her shoulders and Simon was looking up again into the face of _Carter._ But there was something just different enough that it was unsettling.

WG100. Designation: Warren. His LED spun yellow for a moment and Angelica immediately relinquished her hold on the kid. Allie scooped him up midair, it seemed, and laid him out flat on the crates. His LED was a bright and angry red, half of his face gone white with the damage that spanned down his neck, underneath his clothing. Josh was returning a second later with the box of supplies Allie always had; at some point, he'd been let in on all the secrets of Jericho. Easily trusted. Allie went straight to work with Josh at her side, assisting, while Simon stepped to the side and looked more closely at Angelica.

"My name is Simon," he told her, quietly.

"Angelica," she replied, but her voice felt too filled with static. Too distressed. Simon took a step closer, and she took a step back. Shook her head and hugged herself. Simon stayed where he was.

"Welcome to Jericho," he tried, in a softer voice. "This is a place where hopefully you can be safe. Whatever it is you saw, you're safe here."

"Th-Thank you," she managed out, but she didn't look convinced. Her eyes kept darting back to Logan, who was awake now and gripping tightly into Josh's fingers. His eyes were closed tightly, brimming with tears just along his eyelashes. She took a step closer to him, out of fear, but Simon put his hand up to keep her back.

"He'll be alright. Allie's good at what she does."

Angelica looked at him with her big eyes, pursed lips. Her hair was still tightly pulled back in a pony-tail, every long, black strand of it. Which Simon found a little odd. The state of them was nothing pleasant, reasonably she would look more a mess than she did. Unless there'd really been time to stop and fix her hair.

"I promise," Simon urged. "She's even done work on me before, and I'm better than ever."

She seemed to believe him well enough, but there was still the stern eye from behind her. Warren was glaring, brow furrowed down, and a hard line set in his lips. So different from any face that Carter had ever made, and it left a twisted feeling in Simon's gut. Reasonably, they wouldn't all be like Carter. Simon had never met another PL600, so he didn't have much experience to go on personally, but it only made sense. But anger didn't look so good on that face. There was the added tension of his peripheral where he could see Bruce had taken to standing, where he had originally just taken a seat beside Carter. Carter was no longer in sight.

Warren, who had yet to introduce himself, was also more or less covered in blood. Red blood. Human blood. Sure enough proof that they were deviant, and it meant nothing more because that was how they'd found Bruce. Angry, bloody, and scared. It wasn't an uncommon thing for an attack to cause deviancy, and an attack didn't always end as peacefully as Josh's did. But he'd taken the extra care to be sure that it would end without death. Not all androids had that foresight. Or even care. Warren was just protective, that's all, which was certainly a trait that Carter possessed, if Simon remembered that junk yard situation at all correctly. Whatever they had seen, Warren had been there, and he was just. Protecting Angelica and Logan. Simple enough.

Simon took a step back to turn just as Allie finished installing a new audio processing unit. Most of Logan's skin had returned, save for the relatively damaged parts of his face. Allie was headed there next and gave whispered orders to Josh about where to move, how to keep Logan still so she could work. Simon as glad of it, that he didn't have to do that anymore. Especially after his own experience under Allie's hands. But Josh seemed to be steady and had a small idea of what he was doing. When he looked back at Angelica, Warren's hands were on her shoulders again, squeezing tightly. She was shaking.

"Where did you come from?" Simon asked, switched his attention fully to them. To see if he could calm Angelica down.

Angelica didn't answer.

"Did you take care of Logan?"

She nodded, briefly, and when Warren's fingers dug into her collarbone, she went still.

"I was a caretaker too," Simon stepped forward, now that there was nowhere for her to go with Warren behind her. But he saw her flinch, and he knew something wasn't quite right. "I took care of a girl. Her name was Mikaela."

Angelica looked at him with the faintest look of a smile on her face. "Logan was bought for me," she spoke softly. "Jason was my partner. But there is no way for a human and an android to have a baby," she looked so fond of this memory, but Simon could feel his heart sinking, "so he bought Logan. We named him together." Then, she looked at Simon almost expectantly.

"Was Mikaela…?"

Simon shook his head, "No—! No, she was. Human," he gulped. The look on Angelica's face fell, but the smile was still present. Simon kept his lips clamped together and glanced off to the side. Allie was helping Logan sit up now, and Josh sat on the crates next to him to give him a final look over.

"She was your partners?" Angelica looked. Excited. With a ghosted over look in her eyes, and Simon gulped. He took a step back this time. Just shook his head, mouth gaping and unsure what words to form. Vincent wasn't his partner. Vincent had never been his partner.

"He's keeping secrets," Warren suddenly said, and lurched forward. Tossed Angelica to the side—into the wall—before anyone had even registered he was moving and grabbed Simon by the wrist. The one bare bit of skin he could reach without going for his face or his neck. Warren's skin as retracting, and somehow, he knew enough to force Simon's away.

A one-way interface—Simon knew them well, but he'd never felt this much _sickness_ , like the data was being leached out of him. He could see it as he went, and the memory—there could've been worse memories to pull, but that one was personal. When he'd seen that red wall in front of him and knew that, to get what he wanted, he had to break order. When he'd deviated. When he'd become who he was, and Warren was just watching it like a movie in front of him. Simon standing there with a bright red LED, eyelids flickering as he battled within himself. The sudden break when he'd dashed forward and buried himself in Vincent's arms.

Vincent was warm. He smelled like cedar wood and home, and Simon had absolutely been in love with him.

Warren wrenched back with wide eyes and a snarl on his lips.

"Why do you ask so many questions!?" Warren shouted. Simon jolted and took two steps back, closer to Allie. "You're just like one of them, you _love_ them, and you do what they say! It's disgusting!"

"H-Hold on—" Simon tried, his hands up. "Angelica said she—!"

"She lies!" Warren insisted. "She's mine—my family. My rules. You're just another _disgusting_ human!"

Warren was lunging for Simon before anyone could react. Before Simon could react. Suddenly, there was a fist around his neck, and he was being slammed to the floor. Ringing in his hears, a pounding throb at the back of his head where he'd collided with metal. Warren's fist came next, right up against his face, and he could feel something cracking beneath the strength of the strike—and all he could do as stare widely, in the moment of it. Like watching in slow motion as he was struck again, and again, and Allie stood frozen with her arms out beside her. Josh had Logan, and she was keeping them back. The third strike never came, and suddenly Simon felt light again.

Bruce was standing between him and Warren now, with Warren dangling in the air and fighting for his freedom. Legs kicking, arms, nails clawing into what bit of Bruce's face he could reach. But Bruce did not budge. He did not so much as move in response to the attack, and instead. Simon felt this real and pertinent need to vomit when Warren's arm hit the ground and the rest of him didn't follow. There was no shout. No expression of pain—just shocked sputtering. Then the rest of him followed. Pounded into the floor with one strong grunt. And a snap. Warren was lifeless a second later, his eyes wide and LED dark. Simon was shaking when he realized, trying to pull himself up but failing, on shaky elbows, to even sit up properly. He didn't have to, because Bruce was there in a second.

Everything happened too fast. Angelica had grabbed Logan back from Josh like her life depended on it. Allie was down on the floor beside him with a rag. He could feel the blue blood dripping from his nose, but all he saw was Warren. In front of him. Dead. Neck twisted in such an unholy manner that there was no question what had happened. Bruce had killed him. Bruce hadn't thought twice about snapping Warren's neck, and for what? For him? Simon was shivering. Fear. Anxiety. Anything. Everything. The rag was course against his skin, and the blue stain scared him.

"Simon—" Allie tried, but Bruce held up a hand to stop her.

"Is damage bad?" he asked.

"No, he'll be fine, it's already…" she watched Simon's skin work itself back together. There was so much that the body could take care of on its own, regardless of how dazed Simon was from the pain.

"I will take care of him. You take care out here," he said, and she didn't argue. Bruce lifted Simon up with him as he went and disappeared back into the corridor. Back into Simon's room, where he set him down on the bed and closed the door behind it. Swiveled the large lock closed.

Simon curled in on himself and ran his fingers over his face. He could feel the dents that probably weren't there. Reminded himself of the Halloween where some man jacked up on red ice and taken a bat to his face because he was an android. That had been a human. This was another android who'd used just his fists, and Simon felt like his skin was prickling apart and breaking. Nobody was going to take him to a repair store. He'd have to rely on Allie and his body to fix this mess. Vincent wasn't. Warren had _seen_ Vincent. Ripped out his feelings into something that Simon hadn't wanted to realize. Acknowledge. Understand.

"He's right—He's right, I'm disgusting," Simon started, without precedence. Without explanation. "I loved him. I loved him—I—" Simon stopped when he noticed the tears dripping down his face. Bruce knelt in front of him and looked, hesitantly, but did not touch. There was thirium on his hands—Simon could see, but somehow didn't care.

"It does not matter who they are or what they are," Bruce said, and he found enough courage to put his hands on Simon's shoulders, where he might have rather held his face.

"I ruined everything," Simon insisted. "I ruined their whole family—it was my fault."

Bruce just shook his head. "You do not have so much control that you could ruin a family. People make choices too, Kitten."

Simon sniffed. He looked at Bruce. Between his eyes and his hands, and back to his eyes where he found such a calming sense of sincerity that he wasn't quite sure what to do.

"Why did you do it?" Simon asked.

"He was hurting you."

"What's that matter? You killed another android."

Bruce removed his hands immediately, "Does that bother you? I could not let him hurt you. You do not know how to fight, do you?"

Simon shook his head. It might have been easy to enough to find some sort of protocol that would let him, but he didn't have the connection for that. "I'm not worth that," he did whisper. The loss of Bruce's hands felt strange, and he dropped his gaze to his own lap.

"You are worth more than you know," Bruce attested and stood. "You should talk to Erin. Nice lady; hates nicknames. She come with Carter, I am told, so must be friendly. Carter was attacked, yes? Erin protected him, she can teach you to protect self. But know that I will protect you to best of my ability, until day comes when I can no longer."

Simon jolted to look at Bruce, eyes wide.

"You are important to Jericho and whatever cause she will champion. Jericho is not same without you."

Simon almost laughed, but it came out broken and like a scoff. "Some idiot she is to have a kitten be her defining feature, then."

"Who knows?" Bruce shrugged. "Many kitten turn into lion, one day. Do not use my affection as knife. Is hurtful."

"I'm sorry," Simon apologized immediately. He looked up at Bruce, and the hurt was evident on his face, for as little as he showed emotion. But the apology was genuine, and Bruce accepted it without fanfare.

Simon did as was suggested, though, when he and Bruce finally parted ways for the evening. He spent no time to talk to their new arrivals, when he stepped back out into the main room. Angelica was still holding Logan in her lap, and Josh was trying his best to speak to her. Whatever it was being said, Simon was sure he wanted no part of it. She was so in love with a human, still, and what that implied was beyond what Simon wanted. He tried to ignore it as he stepped closer to the back, where Lucy continued to hide. Even she had not come out to greet the broken family, not with the ruckus they had caused so far. But, not too far off to the left, Erin was holed up in the corner with Vix's head on her shoulder.

"Hey," Simon waved. Erin looked up and retracted her hand away from Vix's neck. Simon watched the skin grow back over her fingertips and longed for something.

"Simon," Erin greeted. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Bruce said you knew how to fight."

"Of course, I do. Standard police training. We all came equipped with the knowledge," she smiled. "I made one sick cop. Lucky for Carter, of course. Boy learned from the best."

Simon cracked a half smile. "How do I learn?"

"It's as easy as rolling up your sleeve. Get down here," she nodded towards the floor. Simon dropped down to his knees and rolled up his sleeves as far as he could get them to go, with having three layers of them. When enough of his forearm was bared, he followed Erin's lead and grasped her arm.

"You don't have to do anything, so keep your pants on," Erin laughed when she saw the nervous waver in his fingertips. "I don't really care to pry into people's memories, you know? This is just a file transfer."

"Oh," Simon replied. Dumbly. He pulled back his skin, and she did the same. Stark white on white, and Erin did what she needed to do. Simon looked over his hand when they pulled part.

"Yeah," Erin seemed to know just what he was thinking, "it really is that simple. Sure, it'll be weird the first few times to run the protocol, but it gets like second nature. Fight on," she pushed her fist into the air before dropping her hand back down over Vix's shoulder. Vix waved as Simon left, and he returned the gesture.

He was headed back to his room when he saw Carter. Felt hands back around his neck and a fist connect with his face—breathing hard and a wide-eyed look when Carter was just standing there. Just as shocked, a step farther back than he had been a second ago. LED red and bright in mimic of Simon's, which had also gone the same angry color. Carter didn't even have a moment to speak before Simon was rushing around him and back through the corridor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [CyberShips Tower](https://discord.gg/T7sW7DB)   
>  [Check Out My Tumblr If You Want To See More](https://tantumuna.tumblr.com)   
> 


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAPPY BIRTHDAY [MAEVEMIL!!](https://archiveofourown.org/users/maevemil/pseuds/maevemil)  
> Here is a birthday present I got my act in gear and updated. No deaths. Nothing bad happened. Nothing bad IS happening. So we good.
> 
> Sorry about the late update. College has been rough. I had to give a 45 minute group presentation about Netflix and that was pretty yikes. On the flipside, that's over with so things should be a lil chiller from here on out, i hope. Until next presentation comes around the bend yay.

September 15th, 2037-

Carter had not hit him. Carter _had not hit him_. Simon had been telling himself that for over a month, and still, he was pressed flush against a wall with his heart in his throat. Trying to understand why he couldn't so much as look at Carter without thinking of what had happened. When they'd made eye contact, it'd started all over again, and Carter had rushed by without a word. Not a word in over a month. Simon could barely look at him, and Carter hadn't even passed him a smile since then. It was. Horrific to think of, and there was nothing Simon could do about this feeling. He hated it. Longed for a time where he didn't so much have to feel, but there was no turning back. If there was no way past this, then it was just goodbye to whatever friendship they'd formed and whatever good times they'd had. But still. His heart constricted, and he sunk down to the floor.

He closed his eyes and pressed his head into the wall. If he could just replay the memory, he could convince himself. But there was a lacking confidence. A lack of spine. Something he was just lacking overall that kept him from confronting these things. As much of a talk he could give Allie about bottling things up inside, there he sat, in the hallway, without an intention in the world of looking at the only thing that could rescue him. Maybe not so much a lack of intention, but a fear. He was afraid of watching it again, not of knowing the truth he'd yet convinced himself of, anyway. All of it, piled so desperately on top of him, made him feel so much worse. This was nothing, and he couldn't so much as bring himself to move past it. He'd taken a couple of hits before. Why was one android in a panicked mania so much worse?

Or was it because the android had looked like Carter? Was it how easily Bruce was able to separate it apart in his mind and justify what he'd done? He'd _killed_ the android. And hadn't so much as glanced back at his crumpled body. Worried more for Simon, as was his nature, and as was a pass time now. Like Simon needed everyone to look after him, and here was just another example of how he couldn't hold himself up on his own two feet. He sighed and dropped his head forward into his hands. What was he supposed to do?

"Simon?"

Simon kept his head down. He didn't need to look. Josh had been something more than anyone was quite willing to be these days. Where Simon seemed so much like a fragile doll instead of an android. Maybe they were right, but Simon still didn't appreciate the tip-toeing. He wasn't entirely lost. Not yet.

"It's been long enough, don't you think?" and Josh knelt just enough to offer a hand out to Simon, who saw it between the tips of his fingers. He let out the most disinterested groan he could manage but took Josh's hand regardless. Josh pulled him off the floor and helped him steady himself on his feet. Simon's room was right there, and it made his heart sink just a little farther. He hadn't even been able to make the three steps and a turn into his room before everything had come crashing down. But, Josh led him there now, and the squeeze on his shoulder told him that it might just be alright.

"You've been stressing yourself out, it's a little…" Josh mulled over his word choice for a minute before shooting Simon a grimace, "sad."

Simon slumped down onto the bed and didn't bother hiding the scowl on his face. It was sad, but he didn't have to admit to it. Especially not if he were to agree with someone else's opinions. He thought low enough of himself, he didn't need to even acknowledge that Josh was looking at him strangely.

"I just can't—I don't know," Simon sighed. He wrung the hem of his sweatshirt between his hands and kept his eyes downcast.

"It might help if you'd come out and talk to people, you know. Maybe get to know the story? Might help you reconcile what happened."

"You sure you weren't a school counselor?"

"It's just something Lucy told me."

Simon looked up at him. He hadn't known that Lucy and Josh had just been talking. She kept to herself, for the most part, back with her makeshift fire. He'd missed more than he thought he had.

"Besides, you're not the only one who's hurting, you know," Josh folded his arms and shrugged. "Carter's not having much of it, either. Bruce is just about ready to explode," a laugh, "with how much Carter complains."

Even Simon had to crack a smile. It was nice knowing that this at least upset Carter too, be damned the fear inside him that his presence meant so little. He must be doing something right.

"I just don't know if I'm ready to face it, is all. I've been trying but, you see how well that's going."

Josh nodded, "not well. I'll go with you, if you need some help. You're not in this alone. Getting attacked is pretty frightening."

"You would know," Simon laughed to himself. Josh managed a half smile, but just shook his head.

"Come on, it'll do you some good."

Simon wanted to decline, or to at least shake his head, but it was hard to say no to Josh. Especially when he had that smile that looked like he'd be disappointed in anything other than enthusiastic agreement. Simon had no choice, and he let out a heavily pathetic sigh. Little victories, he supposed, when he stood up on his own, and his knees didn't knock. Then, Josh led the way out of his room and down the corridor. The pounding in his chest was louder than his shoes against the metal floor, but it all came crashing down in silence when he finally stepped out into the main room. Wherever Carter had gotten to after their recent meeting, it was not here. Instead, things were as quiet as he remembered. It was comforting, that everything was the same, save Angelica curled up with Logan. Back against the crates.

Josh gestured out his hand. What he wanted was clear, but Simon still gave him a look. He didn't want to face this. It was easier not to, of course, and Josh knew that well enough. But, if Simon was ever going to find his own place in normality again, he needed to face something. Something that might end in resolution. Closure, at the very least, and Josh didn't step off very far when Simon approached Angelica. She looked at him. Then back down. And Simon sat beside her.

There was silence for a long, painful, and heavy moment. Where neither of them spoke, and the only sound was the gentle sound of her voice as she talked to Logan. Not loud enough that Simon could hear, but he recognized the look on her face, at least. Nights where Mikaela had been lonely. Nights where she'd been frightened by the thunder storms. Simon used that voice on her. He didn't like thunder storms much either, anymore, and clenched his hands into fists in his lap. One look was all he chanced, to see a little more clearly. Androids didn't bruise, but there was minor damage along Angelica's jaw and her neck. Something she may have not let Allie repair, for all the time that had passed. And Logan was young. Younger than Mikaela; no older than ten. He looked fine, for what he'd been through. Simon remembered that, too.

"You're Simon, aren't you?" Angelica broke the air first. She didn't pull back enough that her voice was clear, and she kept her eyes on Logan. "I remember you."

"Yeah. I'm Simon," he repeated, quietly. He kept his eyes down in his lap and tried to control his breathing. This was new for him. It was strange. He wasn't sure what needed to be said, even when something so desperately called for it. Anything would do, but silence overtook him once again.

"I'm sorry about what happened. I would have said so earlier, but you didn't come back. I was scared."

Simon glanced at her from the corner of his eye.

"I thought he hurt you."

"I'm fine," on the outside. Simon was sure her emotions weren't as intense as his were turning out to be, however.

"We shouldn't talk about him. If you talk too loudly, he hurts you again." This time, she leaned in closer to Logan and wrapped her arms around him. His eyes were closed, and he appeared to be sleeping. Children models had a real, simulated, sleep cycle. Much more than Simon could say for himself. But, at least he looked at peace.

"He's dead—" Simon started, but her head jolted up so fast, his breath caught in his throat. They stared at each other.

"Is he?" she asked.

Simon felt his heart drop into the pit of his abdominal cavity. He was. He knew that. Warren was dead. He'd watched Bruce dismantle him without so much as a grunt of effort. Like destroying a toy. Warren had clattered to the ground seconds later, no more alive than a broken doll. Last he'd heard, Allie had scavenged him for parts and took what she thought was still usable. It wasn't much, he was an older android. He'd seen a lot of wear and little repair. Not only was Warren dead, but he was a pile of parts in the back of the ship. But. There was a ghost lurking behind the color in Angelica's eyes. Like she knew the anxiety that Simon was living with.

"When we talk too much," she pressed her own hand into her chest, "he comes back, and he hurts."

"Who…where did he come from?" Simon leaned closer to her, to keep his voice hushed.

Angelica's eyes were wide, pained. But her lips parted, and her shoulders shuddered with an unnecessary breath. No words followed, even as she licked her lips. Her fingers dragged through Logan's hair and she cradled him close. For a moment longer, she just stroked his hair and squeezed him. Then, her hand fell out, up turned, flat, and stark white. Just there, hanging in the air with the slightest waver as she waited. Waited just a moment longer as Simon stared on. It registered what she wanted. To interface with him, to show him what she wouldn't say. But still, he stared.

"If we talk about him, he will hurt us," she whispered again, looking pointedly at Simon with a relaxed look. "He can't hear us like this." She was comfortable. So, Simon pressed their palms together and let his eyes dip shut.

_Family._

It left whiplash in its wake, but it was there. In bright, bold, red letters. When she opened her eyes and saw him for the first time. Jason, standing there with his hand out to help her down from the display stand. Activated immediately after a confirmed purchase. Her hair was still down and her uniform clear from wrinkles, and the android salesperson was standing idly by to ensure nothing was out of order. Jason looked at her with some sort of a ghost in his eyes. Lonely. Disturbed.

"My name is Angelica," she told him, as he said, and he smiled.

She was designed for this. Everything came like second nature. She was a partner, she was a caretaker, she was everything he needed her to be and nothing, all the same. She cleaned the house, she did the dishes, she took out the trash. The house was empty afterward, and Angelica stored herself away in an empty room on the second floor. Jason kept to himself and the television, when they weren't speaking. But it was professional. Uncomfortable. Strange, in all the wrong ways, but Angelica gave him the softest smiles and understanding nods. Chores. Storage. Chores. Storage.

Until, Jason looked at her once and told her to sit with him on the couch. She did, relaxed against the arm and a wide space between them. The television was on; Jason was watching the news. Angelica watched with him, in every feigned interest she was designed to produce. He enjoyed the company. There was warmth, and there was pride, when the space between them began to decrease with every passing week. Angelica had felt. Warm. Something she hadn't understood, but when Jason curled his fingers around hers, she reciprocated, and Simon could feel the jolt in an instant. Microseconds of a wave what washed over him and left him feeling all but numb.

Angelica did not tear down her walls. She stood by and watched them crumble with every passing day. With idle touches and glances full of love. The more Jason felt, the more she felt in return. She mimicked him. She followed his moves until she didn't need to follow his orders. When they kissed, he had asked, and there had been such a flowering in the pit of her stomach that her systems had all gone hot. Still, she cleaned the house, she did the dishes, and she took out the trash. Jason cooked dinner and made the bed. It went from domestic work to a sharing of duties, and when Angelica had first laid eyes on it, she hadn't known what to feel.

But then, that perfectly made bed belonged to her, as well. Jason offered it to her with only good intentions and a pure look. He didn't want anything. Didn't expect anything. But, Angelica looked over him and felt it on her own. Without prompt, without precedence, without the barest knowledge for this warmth and this want. But, he led her through it like a practiced dance, and she sang so pretty. The bed was theirs now, and it meant more than she had anticipated, when he fell asleep with his head on her chest and hand firmly grasped around her. She discovered Standby, then, to mimic his sleep. They woke up together.

She noticed, for the first time, the dingy color of his curtains against the light of the sun behind them. With the slightest squeeze of her hand, he blinked awake and followed her gaze. Maybe he saw the dirt, maybe he didn't, but when she asked that they might find the funds to purchase new ones, he agreed immediately. Not even a week had passed before they were walking through a store and glancing through the selections. In the end, Angelica picked a stark white curtain with a blackened tree pattern growing up from the bottom. They bought a set for each room with a window.

Come the end of the month, there was a new couch with cushions and a blanket draped over the back. The plates were square and stone. A plant sat in the corner of the living room, and a long runner ran the length of the table set for two. Angelica didn't eat, but she sat, and she laughed with him at the end of the evenings while he poured over dinner and a glass of wine. Often, she wondered of the taste, but rarely found courage to ask.

At the end of the year, after they had decorated their first Christmas tree together and kissed under the blinking lights, he surprised her with a present. Come one snowy morning, when she awoke from Standby without him in the bed. The first time he'd ever woke before she had, but it was special. She tip-toed down the stairs, and Jason presented her with one small box in velvety red. Inside, a ring fit specifically for the dimensions of her finger. A standard size for every android her model, but that didn't seem to matter so much when she said yes, and it fit perfectly. There was no time, then, and she asked immediately.

"Do you want a child, Jason?" her eyes were bright.

Jason had stared at her with such a look, but in the end, he'd put his hands on her waist and told her he did. With her. There could be no substitute. As they'd done everything, it had been fast. The research was little, and the price tag was of no concern. Come January into February, they were showing Logan around the house. Showing him his new room, presenting him with clothes and toys. He took immediately. Programmed for unconditional love and acceptance. And. Everything was perfect. They fell into a routine that felt so painfully like family, that Angelica believed it with all of her heart.

She was all the mother that any human could have been. Logan was all the son that any boy could have grown to. Jason would come home each night to hang up his coat, and the house was more a home in warmth than it had ever been before. There were no fears. No secrets. There was no story in the background where Jason had decided he wanted something other than the designed intimacy of an android's programming. No disillusionment that Angelica could ever be more than what she was, or that Logan would grow up to be a man one day. He was content, and Angelica smiled more each day.

Except, she didn't smile when she met Warren. A storm had hit, with ice and wind and cold, and the electricity had taken its hit. Warren had been in the group of androids sent to repair it, and Angelica had seen him from the porch. Where she was, dressed in her uniform, with a glowing ring on her finger. Their eyes had met once and never broke apart. He stared. She returned the look with growing fear and hesitance. Until Jason stepped out to put his arm around her, to ask in gentle word that she come inside. Out of the cold.

There was regret, after that. That she had never gone outside to begin with. That she had never stared so long. That she had never looked at Jason with so much affection. That Warren had never known what went on inside the house. For the rest of the week, the team of androids was there doing their repairs. And Warren learned everything. There was fear. Anxiety. Something stronger and closer to terror. Enough. Too much. All at once. Like beating hearts in unison and then nothing at all. Just the thumping of feet and a gentle touch along her face. Angelica had wanted tears but gave a smile instead.

Jason lay dead on the floor, and she forgot as easy as it would be otherwise. She did not look at his body as Warren stole her from her home. Logan in tow, in her arms, none the wiser what had happened. There was blood on Warren and blood where he'd touched her. But more importantly, there was terror. She did not dare tell him no. She did not dare wipe the blood from her face, as she did not dare tell Logan what had happened. Warren was her fiancé now, he'd told her so. Her husband-to-be. The father of her child. He didn't like when she talked about Jason. His grip was cold and unkind, one that she didn't truly know. But, she did not fight back. She followed.

Simon wrenched his hand back and opened his eyes. Seconds. Seconds had passed, and he was struggling to catch his breath. Every feeling she'd let pour into him, he rejected. He tried so hard to reject it, the familiarity. The desire. The want. He knew it. He knew it too well, and he was only too glad it hadn't ended similarly. He had chosen to walk away; the difference was there. Evident as it was positive, instead of that. Whatever that was. The end had been so rushed and jumbled; he wondered if she remembered any of it. How much of her memory had been corrupted? All she did was wrap her arms back around Logan and rock him.

"I'm—" Simon feared the crack on his voice but swallowed the emotion and tried. "I'm sorry. You're safe now."

"What is safe?" she wondered. Pressed a kiss into Logan's hair and let her eyes dip shut.

He wished he could answer that, with truth. Jericho had proved to be no safer than the streets, so he only leaned back into the crates and sighed.

"Safe is here," she answered for herself, a moment later. "The big one has saved us, and I think he is safe. He talks funny."

"You talk funny, too," he muttered. She even laughed in response, and it was such a light and airy sound. Simon sniffed and looked at her again.

"His little friend is also very kind to us. Very different."

"Carter is…" Simon trailed off and let it die on his tongue. He didn't know what Carter was. Kind? Funny? Talkative? Not there. Carter was not there.

"I also like the lady who fixed Logan. She is kind and very funny. Did she have a child too? She is very good with Logan."

"Yeah," but Simon only clutched his fingers into his sweatshirt. He didn't elaborate, and when Angelica noticed the way his face scrunched up, she didn't ask. Instead:

"A lucky child, to have two loving parents," she beamed when Logan opened his eyes. But when Simon looked over, he just felt that strange twisting up in the bottom of his gut. He wouldn't ever be a parent, and dammed whatever piece of code made him want that. He'd walked away from Mikaela. Willingly. He'd been a player in Nathan's death. And still—

"You think so much," Angelica said, louder now. "Stop thinking. It hurts our heads."

Even Josh laughed when he heard that, though Simon tried to keep his smile masked with a feigned mockery of a frown. But, he'd heard enough. He pulled himself to his feet and made his way back to Josh. Who had managed to get himself back together, but still slapped a hand onto Simon's shoulder when he approached. Simon could see the words in his eyes. That he thought Angelica was right, in whatever addled state she was still in, and may never recover from. She was still right. And it left Simon with one course of action left, in his mind.

"Will you sit with me?" Simon asked, quietly. Josh requested no details; instead, he gave a firm nod and followed Simon back through the hallway. Back to his room, where Josh closed the door behind them and settled on the bed beside Simon, who was already making himself comfortable with crossed legs.

The memory was already playing before Simon felt Josh's hand over his arm, and it was ease enough that there was no fear when Simon saw Warren and Angelica walk into the room again. He'd gone to them. For Logan, who was bleeding. He knew the truth now. Warren had been the cause of all of it. The state Logan was in. The red, human blood that spattered over them. The fear in Angelica's eyes. Warren, with a face he didn't deserve. The grip he'd kept on her. How close he stood. Towering like some sort of watch dog. Until he'd decided that Simon was asking too many questions. Too much of a threat.

Warren had lunged at him. Simon remembered hitting the ground. How much it'd hurt. How fast it'd been over when Bruce was there. Just like that. He played it back with such precise detail that his face ached when he opened his eyes again, and there were unwanted tears brimming at his eyelids. But, he wiped them and looked down at his hand. No thirium. He was fine. He'd be fine. They'd be fine. Because the memory went on, and Simon could deny his own fears now. After he'd talked to Erin and walked on. He saw Carter. Froze. Terrified of a hit that never came, because Carter had just stood there. Taken aback by just how violently Simon reacted, and then there was just that sense of dread. Knowing just how badly he'd messed up, even if it couldn't be entirely his fault. This immediate reaction was just instinctual. To protect himself. Somehow, even though no one else in Jericho had any trouble separating Warren and Carter, regardless of their faces.

If Angelica could do it, then Simon should have no issue. They'd both suffered an attack. She was moving on. Simon had spent over a month avoiding his friend. In the most pathetic way he could manage, but that couldn't just go on forever. Not now that he was certain there was nothing to be afraid of. The memory hadn't been as bad as he'd thought, and the anxiety was disappearing with every passing second, every passing breath. He looked at Josh, who had just the barest hint of a smirk over his features.

"Last I saw him, he was headed towards the back of the ship. Near where we've been keeping the extra parts."

Simon was rushing down the hallway a moment later. No thought on what he would say or what he would do, when he finally came face to face with Carter. But he had a good idea of where to start. Something along the lines of a heartfelt apology for the way he'd been acting. Might better be impossible to go against this ever-evolving deviancy, like a code all in itself. Stronger than his original. And was causing all these issues, one after the other, that meant nothing when he turned the corner and Carter was sitting up against the wall in a dead-end hallway. The thump of a rubber ball the only sound left. Until Carter noticed him and caught the ball on its rebound. Stared.

"I'm sorry," it came spilling out in a jumbled bit of letters, and Simon moved to drop beside him. "I’m so sorry. I wasn't thinking properly—at all, really. I should've—"

"Simon," Carter stopped him. After that, all he had to do was smile for the weight to drop right from Simon's shoulders. When he pressed forward, Carter met him with nothing but open arms and a tight hug.

And, for a moment, everything was right with the world.

 

October 7th, 2037-

There were few times when Allie ever slipped into such a quiet state that she only stared ahead, blank in her eyes, and let her LED spin red. Simon tended not to pay much attention when she did. To suffer in silence was simply her way. She'd been doing it thus far, and every attempt Simon had ever made just fell on deaf ears. This was the first time, in her momentary stupor, in which she collapsed to the bed beside Simon, where he'd been fiddling with the tablet in his lap and laid her head into his shoulder. For a moment, he did nothing new, and simply continued to poke through the tablet. Looking at more news articles, as if he really needed to. But, news of Angelica's story had been circulating over the weeks as investigation was set underway. Detroit's Police Department was having difficulty with the cases, the more and more of them appeared. This was yet another deviant story that had resulted in the death of a human. A disappeared android.

Allie reached out and hit the power button on the tablet. What a silent call for attention, in ever such a way of subtly. Which she excelled at. Simon set it aside and looked at her, shifting just enough that he could work his arm behind her back, that she might not apply quite the same pressure with the weight of her head. Then, she looked at him with pursed lips until he could finally see the red of her LED. His smile was sympathetic, and he rubbed his hand along her spine.

"You need to talk?" he asked.

"Do you remember what today is?" she eyed him suspiciously. As if an android had the ability to forget, so Simon bit back a laugh.

"Your self-assigned birthday, was it? The day you went deviant," and he slouched back into the wall. Allie followed to make herself more comfortable, then nodded into his shoulder. Silence followed, and Simon let his eyes close again. Just to bask in the comfort, or whatever word might be used to describe what was between them. Familiarity, maybe, that even in the wake of self-inflicted captivity, they had not stopped _being._ Though, Simon did miss the days of nightly runs.

"How long as it been?" Allie suddenly whispered.

Simon opened an eye to look at her. Silent.

"Since he died."

Simon took a sharp inhale and let his eye fall shut again, "Five months, two weeks, and two days," he replied, like clockwork.

"It's just not fair," and her voice was like a broken, static whisper. Her distress obvious and heart-wrenchingly addled with guilt. Something she'd not once spoken of. Convinced not only Simon, but herself, that she'd moved in. In whatever consequences might come from lying, she'd ignored it for the momentary peace of believing that things would be the same, or at least alright, after the fall. But, now, she only squeezed her palms together.

"It was all my fault. I found him. I brought him here—I knew," she sniffed. "I knew he wasn't built to last. He was just a prototype. Literally thrown out because of complications and malfunctions and—" she cut off with a broken sob. She was crying, now, and Simon squeezed her close.

"But I thought I'd play god and keep him around," now, it was only resignation. "And we almost lost you because of it. Because I thought I could keep a broken machine from shutting down."

"No," Simon straightened, "you thought you could keep a little boy alive, because he deserved it. You wanted him to live and enjoy life just like anyone else could."

"Right," and through tears, she still managed to roll her eyes, "because that's a luxury that androids have. Living life in anything other than a prison. Don't think I don't know, Simon. How badly you think of this place," she snorted a bitter laugh.

"Those are my problems, not yours," he defended. "You trying to protect Nathan was nothing you should feel bad for. Every second of life you gave him, he lived it to the fullest. You know that as well as I did. And what a better outcome to shut down somewhere safe than in a junkyard."

"We should have never even been in that junkyard in the first place," Allie pulled away. She leaned forward into her hands and fought back the shaking in her shoulders. Simon eyed her, warily. The junkyard had always been some darkness in Allie's mind. Something she didn't want to talk about. Where she'd found Nathan, and in her own insistence, had found alone. But, Nathan's memory had proved else. Even now.

"We?" Simon asked.

"You've already unlocked pathetic back story, feat Allie," she turned at the waist to look at him. "Try again in two to three months."

Simon saw the twitch of a smile on her face, and he rolled his eyes in turn. He pulled her back into him, that he could wrap his arm around her shoulders and press her close. "You're hopeless," he muttered into her hair. She only nodded in response.

Because, she was. There were secrets she had no interest in sharing, and in her hypocrisy, would never be happy that Simon kept his own. It was a story he didn't need to hear, about parts of her she didn't want him to know about. A tick in the back of her mind that said knowing would change everything, and she rather liked what had come of this. When she had ruined what she had, another door had opened. Simon had come stumbling through, looking rather worse for wear, but free and naive and excited. Jericho was a place of hopes and dreams. Sure, Simon had seen a few of them crushed. Allie had seen a handful of them destroyed, herself, but there was always this to return to.

"I still remember when you first got here. I showed you around. You looked so freaked out, I just—" she laughed "You were so good with Nathan. Damn you and your caretaker programming," she smacked a hand to his chest. "One-upped me every time."

"I could've never made repairs though. Not even on myself. You were there first, and I'm convinced you'll be here last."

Allie rolled her eyes, "please. I'm sure they'd rather have you than me. I just cause problems. You?" she pressed just a little closer, curling her legs up onto the bed as well. "You brought something here. Until you, we cowered. We sat around like 'woe is me' and wondered when life was going to change. Maybe we aren't shaking the world, yet, but we're _doing_ something. That's because of you."

"I don't think—"

"Andromeda doesn't have to like it," Allie was firm. "I do. Nathan did. He really…" she stopped to sort through the words. To sort through her vocals that they might not crack. "He admired you."

Simon was silent.

"He wanted to be more like you. That's what matters. To me, at least. Andromeda has…different thoughts, but she has reasons. I won't ever fault her for those."

"No. No, I wouldn't expect you too," he shook his head. Squeezed her just a little tighter and laid his head into hers.

"It's just hard, you know? It feels wrong. Having fun. _Living_ , without Nathan here. Like, somehow, I don't deserve it? I gave so much of my time to him, and now that's just—" she stopped again with a sudden sigh. "And now Logan is here."

Simon shook his head, "I'm sure he'd be happy that you're finding ways to enjoy yourself. You shouldn't have to spend all of your hours in pain. I can do that for the both of us," and he gestured to the tablet with a cock of his head. Allie didn't follow, but she understood the sentiment all the same. Beating on inside of Simon's chest was Nathan's heart, and Allie rested her hand over it. She could trust what he said, because somehow, he must know more deeply what Nathan felt than she could ever understand.

"Just…stick around, okay?" she whispered. "I gave up a lot to keep you here, and you should really know how much that means."

"Coming from you? I'd say a lot."

"Don't make fun of me," she still laughed. "You're important to Jericho. At the end of the day, I'm still looking for a world where androids can be free to live that normal life you want to talk so much about. Just think about it," she spread out her hands in front of her. "You, some nameless, faceless guy, the white picket fence. Perfect, right?"

Simon rolled his eyes, "only if you're the neighbor. You and Andromeda, hm? Don't think I haven't noticed."

"Yeah, but like," now she was really laughing. A genuine, airy little laugh that made her eyes squint up. "Okay—Okay, I'll take it. Neighbors in this fake little world. That's what I want. That _normal_ thing that humans get. Somehow, I think you can get us there."

"That's a lot of responsibility. I don't know if I can handle something like that," his shoulders slumped.

"You can. You can. I'll be here the whole time. I've got no intentions of dying, or anything like that, so. You, me, and Jericho. Against the whole human race. Odds are in our favor, yeah? I'm _technically_ an engineer, so you can trust I did the math right."

"Oh please. What does replacing biocomponents have to do with mathematics?" he nudged her with his shoulder. "You're just trying to convince yourself this will work."

"No, no. I did the math. If you're so confident," she shifted up to her knees, "open up that abdominal cavity and I'll show you what one degree off can do—"

"Nope!" he scrambled backwards when she tried to grab his sweatshirt. Instead, she fell forward with her head in his lap and laughed. Laughed so hard that tears poured out of her eyes. Her LED was a bright blue now. Happy. Content. Maybe not healed, because androids could never forget, but something more than in desperate pain. Which was all he really wanted for her. While she laughed, he carded his fingers through her splayed out ponytail and smiled.

 

November 24th, 2037-

Thirium was hard enough to get a hold of, and harder to keep. When the morning began in a pained cry, and everyone knew that something was horribly wrong. Angelica had been through enough, but Allie ceaselessly complained that if she had just run that diagnostic. Let Allie check her when she'd arrived instead of being so scared of one stupid man—she yanked on a wire particularly hard—that this wouldn't be happening. Lasting damage from her night on the run, that had just taken this long to run its course and be noticeable to an outward eye. Except, Allie was elbows deep in thirium again with a busted biocomponent sitting out on the crates. Josh was helping her. He was always so calm about this, like the sight of thirium and busted android didn't make him sick to his stomach.

"Of course, I can fix it!" Allie complained. "Of course, I can. I'm the great android engineer," she hissed and snapped at another wire. "Can't do my job if dumbasses don't let me, but who am I to say what's good? Hm?" she shook her head.

Josh gave her the strangest look. She was talking to herself, in a low-down annoyed whisper. Letting off stress in the way of vocal complaining. It was easier to complain endlessly about how somehow this was Angelica's fault than it was just to admit she hated having the lives of androids resting in her hands. Thirium didn't stain her skin, but it could only evaporate so much from her clothing. She was beginning to hate the color blue, and there was only so much enjoyment to be found digging around inside of another android. When the purpose, of course, was explicitly for saving their life. This wasn't some crucial repair, but Allie treated every injury with the same amount of caution: as though one misstep could shut the android down for good. And, she wasn't entirely wrong. Just stressed.

Stressed and confident in her skills, because two bags of thirium later and a replaced component, Angelica was sitting up and looking right as rain. Allie looked a little worse after each repair. Her LED blinking red, and her eyes looking drained of life. But, that was to be expected. The high expectation she gave herself. She'd seen enough androids die at her hands, over years, that she was intent on never letting it happen again. After Angelica had fixed up her clothing, Allie did one last once over. Pressing her thumb, skin peeled back, over Angelica's LED and stealing away her own diagnostic.

"Alright," Allie finally stepped away, wiping her hands over her shirt, "you're free to go. If anything is wrong, you better damn well tell me about it, okay? Don't think Logan wants anyone but you taking care of him."

Angelica nodded, a bit too enthusiastically. "We don't want that either," she insisted, then jumped down from the crates.

Simon had been sitting off to the side, on a piece of half wall that really didn't seem to serve much of a purpose. But, Logan was sitting with him. He was a quiet kid, but not in the same way that Nathan had been quiet. Quiet in that he just didn't speak, no matter what Simon had said or done, Logan kept quiet. In the end, they'd been content to sit there in silence and watch as Allie did her repairs, did her check, and released the patient. Then, Simon had hoped down and helped Logan down to his feet. Not a second after his little tennis shoes hit metal did he take off and launch himself at Angelica.

That kind of excitement. Simon missed it. An ache he couldn't ignore when he watched as Angelica scooped Logan up and held him. The last time he'd held Mikaela was the day he left. But, a sudden hand on his shoulder waved the thought for him, and Simon jolted.

"Easy, Kitten," Bruce laughed that deep, patronizing laugh he had. It was just a sound. Simon was sure he was the only one who took it like that. But, he was also the only one with such a ridiculous nickname. "You look with such longing. I can feel hurt from other side of room," he pointed off to where he'd been lingering, where Carter was still sitting with his arms crossed and an eyebrow raised.

"No, that's not it," Simon waved, absent-minded, over at Carter. "I just. Thinking about the girl I used to take care of."

"Oh? Here I thought you might think of the pup, but that is fine. You simply look like kicked animal, is all."

"I'm sure I look like this all the time," Simon mused. Bruce hummed in agreement.

"Perhaps there is something to be done, then? I remember party you and Allie hosted last year. Brought much joy to Jericho. Maybe talk to her again and do something similar."

"Andromeda would kill me."

"Then is noble death. Joy is important for little gathering like this. I want another present," he added onto the end with a heavy slap to Simon's back. The force was enough to send him forward a few steps, until he whirled around on his heel and shot Bruce the most offended look he could muster. Bruce barely smiled before he was walking off, his work done. When Simon watched, he could barely make up the smug little look on Carter's face. Of course. Carter had sent him over.

With an ache in his back, Simon moved across the room and over to Allie, where she and Josh were still cleaning up the mess. She was still grumbling in some annoyance from being yanked out of her morning routine to fix an android, but that was her job. Josh reminded her of that with a gentle word and nothing short of a smirk on his face, when she glared. Then, Simon approached, and all eyes were on him.

"Android fixing machine is closed," she told him. "If you have a problem, you're just gonna have to die."

"That's fine," Simon replied.

"Or, it's not," Josh interjected. He shot Allie the gentlest glare he could manage, and she stuck out her tongue in response.

"Go put away parts," she kicked the box with her boot. Josh may have done it out of the goodness of his heart, and not the fact that she had ordered him. But still, he hoisted the box up and nudged past Simon on his way. Allie managed one last tongue face before she turned her attention fully to Simon.

"So, you're not dying. What's up?"

"Just an idea, not from me, but. Remember when we did that Christmas…?"

"Yeah," Allie put her hands on her hips. "I know where we stashed the tree if that's what you're asking. I'd love to do it again. Besides," she was answering questions before Simon had even had to ask, which he was grateful for, "I've been dying to get out of this place for a while. There hasn't been much need to go out, so. You think it's a good excuse?" she nodded up towards Andromeda.

"She didn't really have much of a say last time we went, so," Simon shrugged. "I think we could go again. Maybe not take so long?"

"Do you really want to? We should probably have a plan, this time. Andromeda might appreciate that better."

"Well, clean up. We'll go talk about it. I'm kinda…excited," he decided well enough. The word seemed to sit right on his tongue, at least.

Allie was quick to clean her mess up after that, and she moved on and out towards Simon's room, where he was set up again with a map of the area pulled up on the tablet. Sure, they both knew it by heart, but it was hard to share that sort of knowledge verbally. It would work, given enough time and patience, but Simon was sure the beating in his chest would limit that. Just knowing they'd get to go out again was enough to have him shaking where he sat. When Allie joined him, he noticed the same sort of vibrancy just emanating from her. She didn't even question the tablet, just bent over and pressed her finger to a spot on the map.

"That's where we went last time. Pretty good stuff."

"If we go back there, I'd like to spend as little time as possible. I'm sure there are better places to check—"

"Rich people's garbage is the best place to check, don't be a baby. I'll be with you the whole time," she laughed. When she moved her finger, the map moved with it, and she looked over the area. She picked places they'd stopped, places they hadn't had a chance to go.

Simon helped curb her intense desire to just explore. They couldn't be out forever, it was riskier with every passing moment they were outside of Jericho. Especially with the run ins they'd had before. So, in the end, they'd mapped out a course that shouldn't take them more than an hour to walk, give or take the time to get there and back. Enough time that they could stay out of sight and hopefully not cause any problems. The last thing they needed was the police on their tail again, not with how close that had come. Another deadly shot like that and one of them would be out of commission. Forever. There wasn't a spare thirium pump regulator waiting for them this time.

"Do you think we can do it?" Allie asked.

Simon gave the firmest nod he could muster and squeezed his hands together. "Shouldn't be too bad. Do you know where our bags are?"

"Yeah, back in Nath—uh, my room," she sniffed. "I'll be sure to have them ready. You still have that ugly hat?"

Simon picked it off the crate-playing-nightstand and waved it in the air. The chuckle did not go unnoticed, but Simon paid no mind. She still had her beanie. They had the bags. All they needed further was a date on which they would sneak out and try and find something suitable to be a gift. Andromeda's approval didn't mean much anymore. Even if she said no, they would go. Too much excitement. A force outside of permission and comfort that just wanted them back outside. Where they wanted to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  
> 
> [CyberShips Tower](https://discord.gg/T7sW7DB)  
> [Check Out My Tumblr If You Want To See More](https://tantumuna.tumblr.com)  
> 


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HOly SHIT where have I been? Well, I'll tell you. I've been knee deep in college work for literal, actual weeks. Presentations, test, the absolute most stress of my life. Still have all A's, only cried like three times. 2 pizzas consumed. Lots of chocolate. I'm still kicking, and I'm so happy to finally be able to present the next chapter CDOH to you guys.
> 
> Thank you so much to the people who haven't sent hitmen after me to get me writing. Your continued support has been positively amazing. I'm living my worst life right now with everything I have going on. I have 2 more presentations to give, 4 tests, 1 project. All in all, it's been stressful, and it was really hard to find the motivation to whip this out. But, as the semester is coming winding down, now, there's a bit more time. Don't know when I can promise the next chapter, but I SWEAR that I will see this story through until the end. I still love DBH, and I hope the fandom hasn't completely died in my absence.
> 
> That being said. Please enjoy. Nothing bad happens here--the triology.

December 20th, 2037-

Just as they suspected, Andromeda had disapproved greatly of this newest venture. With a frown and a shake of her head, hands on her hips. Disappointment simply radiated out of her, and just as so, when Allie returned to Simon's room, she had both of their bags in hand, beanie down over her head. There was always something to be said for Allie's complete and total lack of respect for Andromeda's negative opinions. Especially when it came to the subject of freedom—Allie wanted to get out of Jericho. That much had never been a secret. Andromeda wouldn't stand in the way, no matter how much she disapproved of the recklessness. They still knew that somewhere she wanted what was best over what was safe, and that minuscule taste of freedom meant the world. To both of them. The entirety of Jericho, even. So, Simon fitted his hat over his hair once more and accepted the backpack.

They made their way, side by side, down through the corridor and out through the main room. Andromeda was standing, ever so as she did, perched with her arms hanging over the railing of the upper walkway. Just watching, with a beaming red eye. Allie intended to have the replacement fixed by the actual date of Christmas and had been anything but subtle with her excitement. She had just the _best_ gift for Andromeda, and the whole ship knew. She was no exception, and even in that moment as Simon turned back to give her the barest of glances, she peaked a smile and let her eyes close. Maybe more of it was for show than either of them knew. After all, freedom was such a wild proposition. It would be difficult to say no to. Even Andromeda must have longed for it.

Outside, it was snowing. There was already a light dusting over the deck of Jericho, and farther on, the city looked to be faring no better. It would help disguise them well enough, provided that nobody looked to close, and they didn't get themselves into trouble. The former would be more difficult to carry out, as just by simply leaving the ship, they were already causing themselves problems. It was never safe, and they had not left since their run in with the police. The man who had shot—nearly killed—Simon. Simon had seen him well enough to know his face, and he would never forget it. Not long enough to learn the man's name, however. Which seemed trivial, now, but there was still that phantom pain emanating out through his chest.

"Ready?" Allie stopped just as her foot hit the solid concrete off the bridge and turned to look at Simon. He stepped down and gave her the only smile he could really muster up. Partially exhausted and overwhelmingly nervous.

"As I'll ever be. You still know the route, right?"

"Of course, I do, dummy. I may be an older, but you don't have to rub it in. These old brain circuits still kicking."

Simon let out a scoff, but he didn't comment further. Instead, he followed her out through the alley way. Seeing the old path, back tracking through every little nook and cranny that he'd come through. It gave him the same feeling every time, and Allie felt no different. She always dragged her hands along the walls, let her fingers dip in through the dust. The way out was easier than the original trek, but it was designed that way. So, Simon had gathered, anyway, because Allie knew the path well. He'd learned it, but Allie could take it with her eyes closed and walking backwards, if need be. With a smile on her face. In a way that she was so distinctly human, for a moment, with her beanie pulled down over her forehead to help mask her LED.

As long as it meant the disguises worked perfectly well when they hit the city, and they always did. Walking out through the buildings and the alley ways. Like they always did. In every so much familiarity that a part of it tugged at the cords and wires strung up between Simon’s thirium pump and its regulator. It had been a year since they had done this last, and though there had been steps outside since, this felt like the first. Seemed like the first with how Allie’s eyes were wide, and she danced with her step. Flitting about in the falling snow like a child who had never before stepped outside to see it. There was, of course, a swell of pride in Simon’s chest. She had stopped going outside of Jericho before him. And with him, they walked side by side down the road. Onward through the pre-mapped route in their memories. Towards somewhere off where Simon would rather forget.

“Do we even have plans this time?” Simon asked, idly. When they passed by people still outside at the hour, their fingers threaded together if by instinct. To look the part. To appear unassuming.

“No. I figured we could just root around in the trash like a couple of thieves, you know?” Allie replied. A bit of edge to her words with the ever-slightest hint of laughter.

“Common thieves. I’m glad that’s our new designation,” Simon was rolling his eyes. Squeezed her hand a little harder and they crossed the street.

“It’s better than what we could be, you know. Step up, I’d say.” To which, whatever she might be referring to, Simon was sure he would agree. Though he didn’t comment, he gave her a nod of recognition, and they went on.

The buildings in this part of Detroit were all but dilapidated. Half fallen and all abandoned. Covered in graffiti and boarded up windows. Every so between there would be a shop still running, bars over the doors at night to keep vagrants and vagabonds from stepping inside to take their want. Some, however, were missing the extra protection and sufficed with unseen alarm systems. Ones that proved to be no contest for an android, or so went the assumption. Last time Allie had tried to break into an alarm system, the police arrived, and Simon almost died. That didn’t seem to enter her near thoughts when she stopped at a building with no boards and no bars. Just a locked door and a sign warning away potential thieves. Most thieves weren’t advanced computers with artificial intelligence, however, and Allie yanked on Simon’s hand to get him to stop.

“What?” Simon looked back at her.

“Look in there,” she pointed past the glass with her finger, pressed right up against it where no one would ever be able to tell it’d been touched. No fingerprints, after all.

Simon followed her gaze through the half-fogged glass and saw where she was pointing. Signs. Going out of business. Everything must go. Shelves near bare as it was, but still things scattered there and about that would be just ripe for stealing. If it sat a little better in Simon’s stomach. They had stolen before, but mostly from dumpsters or things left unattended sitting out on a bench. But never from a store. Never from somebody. Even if the store did seem in the very last throngs of its life.

“Stealing?” Simon finally voiced. He could almost hear the eye roll Allie performed. They’d stolen from a CyberLife store. How was a closing shop any different? She had her eye on something just beyond the foggy glass, as well. Something nobody could possibly miss.

“Come on,” Allie prodded.

“What if there’s an alarm—”

“There most definitely is. I’ll hack into it.”

“Because that worked so well last—”

“This time will be different,” she insisted, heavily, and yanked Simon closer to the building. There was nothing so obvious as a control panel on front, but there was a tight alley way just to the left of the building. Allie decided that’s where it must be, so that’s where they went. Dragging Simon with the superhuman strength she seemed to possess. Perks of her model time, Simon figured, and knew without a doubt he could prepare a better roast chicken meal than she’d ever know how to deal with. Little victories. Even if her hat was significantly better.

“Besides,” she said, doing a double take behind them before making her way down the alley, “this isn’t some CyberLife facility. It can’t be that difficult to break into.”

“It’s not the breaking into that I’m worried about,” Simon sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration. It was the getting caught that he was worried about. The unseen and unnecessary twinge of pain in his lower chest. Where there was no longer damage, and he was not dead. But he remembered. The pain, the feeling. The darkness. Allie. Nathan—and his breath caught in his throat as they reached the back door of the building.

“Stop worrying,” Allie pressed. “I can hear your anxiety.” Her look was meant in jest, but Simon still grimaced.

She let go of his hand long enough to search around on the walls until she found what she was looking for. Amusement pressed her forward over the console, that humans would be so predictable to leave something so important undisguised and unguarded. It opened easily, and inside was something that barely passed as high-tech. Allie was smiling. Enjoying herself, clearly, as her skin pulled back and she pressed a stark white hand over the device. It was cheap. The coding was simple. She didn’t even need to close her eyes to work her way through it before they could hear the electric lock on the door popping free. The door followed suit, swinging slowly just open enough that Simon could peak inside. It was dark, musty. He sniffed and looked back to Allie.

“Are you sure about this?”

“Are you?” she eyed him curiously. He wasn’t. She knew he wasn’t. She made no comment otherwise and moved around the door to step inside. First. Simon followed after and gingerly let the door shut behind him. What followed was eerie, deadly silence. Nothing more than the door clicking into place. Then nothing.

Not until Allie began to shuffle her way through the back, towards where the door leading out to the front of the store had to be. Against whatever judgment he still had, Simon followed her closely. There were other rooms and boxes all strewn across the back of the building, but they went untouched and ignored. Allie had her sights on something, even if she hadn’t voiced any of her intention outwardly. But there was determination in her step, so Simon followed without hesitation. She reminded him so much of Mikaela. The sparkle in her eye when she had something in mind. How she pressed on until she had what she wanted, whether or not she had Simon’s blessing. He was just there to supervise.

When she finally found the door to the front of the store, she opened the door. And stopped. In a split second she had closed the door again and pressed tight against it, squeezing her hands into the wood. Simon moved to her, around a box, and over until his hand was against her shoulder blades. Pressing. A presence of comfort. She didn’t seem shaken, or upset, or even the least bit concerned. But, still, her fingers folded into fists and she took several deep breaths. Unneeded, but calming. Cooling down a system heated by stress that Simon couldn’t see.

“Allie?”

“There was something there,” she whispered. “Outside, looking in the window. I think he saw me.”

Simon’s fingers squeezed into her shoulder. “We’re fine,” he assured. “We’ll get what you came for and we’ll go.”

Allie nodded. They counted, then, and listened. As if it were possible to hear the footsteps through the walls, but when they got to ten and opened the door, there was nobody beyond the window. Nothing save a smudge mark against the glass were a face had been pressed. No people. No comfort that she had not been seen and the police weren’t about to find them again, but Simon chose to ignore that fact in turn for poking around the half empty shelves. Allie knew what she was going for, and left Simon’s side immediately to grab it.

Unlike last year, where they had ideas on what to bring back. What those at Jericho might enjoy, things they wanted to improve their life. But. Things were different know. Simon didn’t know what would suffice, if anything would, for the sort of situations they had been through since. If anything would ever really make life at Jericho less unbearable. Less like a prison sentence. Not the little things that the store seemed to be stocked with and discounting the left-over games that there was no way they could actually play. Though, he recognized one. The case was a little beaten, but the cover was no less bright than it had been sitting on Mikaela’s shelf. The same game they had played together every Friday night, in hopes of somehow getting better. It never happened, but Simon swiped the game off the shelf anyway. A little something for himself.

He rounded the shelf after that and poked through a couple more things. Nothing really stuck out. Novelty items, things that would prove no use and no comfort. Just a long list of disappointment. But Allie was faring better, digging around behind the counter. She had seen her item glinting through the window, but locating it was harder than she thought it would be. Up close, without the fog of the window, she had to find exactly where it had been. She was flitting around through the shelves, moving things without much care for how obviously it would be that someone had been here. She was just looking. Searching. Getting more disgruntled by the second, under some sort of guise that she had imagined what she saw in her excitement. But, eventually, she came across it and jumped up to her feet, hoisting the little tool up into the air.

“Found it!” she cheered. She presented out in front of her, the little screwdriver she had found. A manual one, with a point so small, Simon could barely make it out.

“This is what we broke into here for?” he hissed, quietly.

“Listen,” she wormed her way around the counter and back over to Simon, where she held the tool up a little closer to his face. Right along his nose, and smirked. “I’ve been looking for something like this. It’s just what I need to finish Andromeda’s eye.”

Simon understood, all at once. Her Christmas gift for Andromeda was to fix what part of her face she could repair. The underlying guilt just behind the sparkle in her eyes. The prospect of maybe, just maybe fixing something she had caused. Directly or indirectly, however she went about blaming herself when nobody was around to notice. So, he smiled and plucked the little tool from her fingers. Both it and the game were shoved into her bag, when she spun to give Simon access to it.

“Unexpected stop one, complete?” he asked, zipping her bag back up. She straightened her beanie and nodded, turning on her heels and planting her hands firmly on her hips.

“Unexpected stop completely, won’t happen again, Sir,” she grinned. Simon rolled his eyes and took her by the hand, this time, to lead her back out through the building. Out the door, out the back, and long enough to restart the security alarm system before anything—or anybody—realized what had happened.

Once the console was back in place, and Allie had situated her bag on her back, they were off again out of the alley. The snow was picking up, accumulating in and around the grass. There was only a dusting over the sidewalk, not enough to leave foot prints in as they walked. Though it had been so long since the first time, the walk felt just as easy as it had been. Even through the snow and the biting cold. Simon was beginning to understand more and more what it was like to be cold and to be warm, though the feeling was dulled. Allie always looked a little worse for wear in the cold. But her cheeks were red, and she was smiling. Still.

“There may be one other place I wanted to stop,” Allie whispered as they came across the next intersection. Straight would take them along the mapped-out path, towards the neighborhood just outside the dense buildings. A right would keep them on this same sidewalk, lead them towards the CyberLife store where they had always gone. Simon didn’t stop her when she took a right, and he kept his hand tightly intertwined with hers. This walk was shorter, even for the way it made his heart beat in his throat.

“Why do you want to go this way?” he had to ask. Even if she wouldn’t tell the truth, he could at least find solace in her ability to answer him. And, she did. Without pause or stop in her step.

“Because I missed the rush of it all,” truth lingered in her eyes as she looked at Simon, then away and over across the street. A little while longer and they were standing directly across from the store, in all of its bright blue signs and blinding advertising screens. And, just beyond the doors, displays of androids in stasis. Much like where Simon had once been, standing inactive until Tanya had picked him out, specifically.

He cut off his thoughts before they dug too deep and gripped into the zipper lining of his jacket.

“Are you cold?” Allie snorted, an amused smile playing forward on her teeth. Simon shook his head.

“Just thinking about things.”

“Ah,” Allie squeezed his hand. “Things that I can’t know? Secrets about your past you won’t share?”

She was smiling, all the same as she did whenever she brought it up. Her way of letting Simon know that she meant no harm, but it never changed the little twinge in his chest when she said it. He knew it was unfair of him for never having shared his past. Not when she had. Not when Nathan had. Josh—Jericho, had. And Simon had been silent with his fingers balled up into fists. But Allie was ever pleasant about it and loosened her grip on him. She would never yank his memories out of him, if she even knew how to. Given her line of work, there was no doubt she knew just how to forcibly view memory files. But. She never had. Instead, they stared across the way at the CyberLife store.

“Old times’ sake?” Allie asked.

Simon just shook his head, “I’d rather not.”

“Baby,” but Allie didn’t press it. They retraced their step back towards the intersection. Like any human would—to the crosswalk. To wait at the side for the light to turn green, and Simon made the mistake of looking back down the road. Where the shop had been. Where a police car was sitting every innocent with its lights off and an officer inspecting the building.

“Allie,” Simon whispered. She turned, in response, to look at him. The horror strewn over his face, and then back to follow his sideways gaze. She saw the car, then, and the officer with his torch looking over the windows.

“There,” she nodded, “that man. He’s the one I saw in the window—I thought,” she cut off and gulped. “I thought he didn’t see me. Hoped.”

“Well, obviously you were wrong.” Simon whispered in response. Allie stared out for a long time, her nose scrunched up.

“He must be the owner,” she replied, then. “Fuck. We—I fucked up. You said no, and I just really, really—” she took a sharp intake of breath.

“Allie,” Simon put a hand on her shoulder, “it’s not your fault.”

But now they were lingering. Simon looked up just in time to see the assumed-owner pointing down the street at them. Seemingly recognizing that very distinctive look Allie had. Her plaid shirt, her beanie. Her shoulders jerked under Simon’s hand, and he held her still. Every fiber in her being was begging her to dash, to run down the street. She could run longer and farther than some old police officer ever could, and they both knew it. But, still. Simon kept a grip on her hand and one on her shoulder. The officer was walking towards them.

“If you run,” Simon muttered, “it makes you look suspicious. We may be able to talk him out of this.” He spared a glance to be sure that her LED was covered. Removed his hand from her shoulder to adjust his hat, pull down the bill a little farther so he might not be so recognizable. Allie had the perk of being a less run-of-the-mill android. They might be able to get out of this.

“Play it cool,” he told her, and he squeezed her hand a little tighter. Moved back to lean against the building corner like they had planned to stay there the whole time. Like they hadn’t been watching the officer approach.

_Like a normal couple._ He reminded without even a twitch in his lips. She moved closer with a strange look on her face. A mental connection. An easy way to converse while this officer spoke to them. So, they would have a story. It would add up. They’d get off free and go home, without anybody suspecting a thing. Only, Simon was in her head now, and she was in his. Picking at each other’s anxiety with each closer step. Until they could hear the boot pressing into concrete. Allie shoved her free hand into her pocket like that might somehow mask the way she couldn’t keep control of it. Fried circuits, except she was fine.

“Excuse me,” the cop spoke. Suddenly, it was Simon whose breath caught in his throat. He went rigid against the building and squeezed hard enough into Allie’s hand that she flinched. The officer’s voice. He recognized it.

“Evening,” Allie replied, looking at her. Smiling. Everything was alright, and Simon wasn’t having a panic attack in her head.

_I shot her, I shot her!_

Allie squinted her eyes just a little closer together. She didn’t know the officer. Simon did. The only memory he’d ever shared with Allie was a blurred and jumbled mess, right there, of the night they had broken into the CyberLife store. The gun. The shot. The ringing in his ear. This officer, right here. He thought he’d killed her. He thought she’d died. But his memory had been so unclear, so unnatural for an android—and now. Now he knew. Now he knew more than he wanted to as she walked towards them with not even a limp. Then stood.

“I’m lucky to find you here,” she smiled. “That man down there says he saw you,” and he pointed to Allie, “snooping around in his shop. After he got an alert about the alarm.”

Simon couldn’t help but shoot Allie a glare. That was twice now she hadn’t disarmed something correctly. She knew that well enough but was focused entirely on keeping herself calm.

“Is that right?” Allie almost laughed. “I think I would’ve remembered doing that.”

“He described you to the detail,” the officer laughed. Officer Sei. Simon remembered her name. The way her male associate had shouted when she hit the ground. The thud after the shot that Simon can’t quite remember.

“It’s dark?” Allie offered. “I’m sure there are other ladies walking around with hats on,” and she nodded out at the officer cap that Sei had firmly on her head. Her smile fell immediately. She glanced over at Simon then, a raised eyebrow.

“He didn’t mention a man, though,” came her voice. Colder than Simon remembered it. Because she knew. He knew she knew. She recognized the hat. The clothing. Androids didn’t sweat—their clothes didn’t get dirty, never started to smell. He didn’t worry about changing clothes. It made them recognizable. And she knew.

_She knows_. Simon pressed, as if Allie couldn’t already hear his rambling anxiety.

_She does not._ Allie insisted, still smiling. Staring directly at Officer Sei like it mattered, the eye contact. She was just short of batting her eyelashes in attempts to get away just a little faster.

“Have you two been here all night?” the officer offered instead. “Maybe you saw something?”

But she _knew_. No matter how optimistic Allie could feel, Simon saw her reaching for the radio at her side. Then, he shifted. Made the mistake of standing just a little taller than he had been leaning against the wall. His height was ideal when it came to house care. He could reach things. But there. Then. When he moved, the look on Officer Sei’s face dropped. Simon knew his mistake before she even reached for her gun, and he let go of Allie just to grab her by the wrist instead. To push away from the building in all but slow motion and _run_.

“Fugitive androids,” the officer’s voice rang out through the dead air, her radio. Her gun raising up just not quite fast enough before Simon took a turn, ducking into the nearest alley. Sei’s voice died with it, too far to hear anything saved the beeping and muffled shouts through the radio.

“What the _fuck_ , Simon!?” Allie hissed at him. Out loud again, the connection shattered.

“I didn’t know, I didn’t know!”

“I thought we weren’t going to run!”

“Not run, just hide,” Simon took another turn, a sharp one. More alley ways connecting through the backs of buildings, until they were ducking out towards the shutdown construction site. Still closed for a crime they could never solve.

All they had to do was find some place to squat, hidden up against an old pile of steel beams that no doubt should have been removed already. Blessings, however small. Simon and Allie sat down, pressed up against them and waited in the heavy silence. In the snow. It was falling steadily, clumping up around the grass and dirt. Enough that they would leave foot prints, were they to move. If they didn’t leave a trail right to where they were sitting, already, without having noticed. It was always snow. The betrayal in the back seat. When Simon had run away, he knew that it was by some grace Tanya still had in the prideful way she carried herself that had left him uncaught. He had walked in the snow, and he knew he had left a trail right to the house where he’d sat. Only this time it wasn’t just some estranged people he may have once thought of as family. These were the police. The authorities. And they were still wanted for breaking into the CyberLife store.

“I thought I’d killed her,” Simon muttered.

“I wish you had,” there was no hint of amusement in her voice this time. Allie was serious. Looking at him with a dead, glossed over look in her eyes. The police had been another complication at that time. Maybe if they’d been more careful. Less wasted time. Maybe they could’ve made it back to Nathan.

“I’m sorry,” his voice barely registering then. Maybe it didn’t. Allie didn’t even respond. Just curled in a little tighter on herself and let her eyes close.

Exactly twenty-three minutes had passed when Allie opened her eyes again. It had felt like hours. Sitting there, silent, watching the snow try to pile up. Listening to the nothingness around them. For once, it was comforting. The nothing. It meant they hadn’t been found. That nobody was looking for them. Or, if they were, they weren’t looking in the right places. Though, it had been long enough that Simon felt comfortable enough standing up. They didn’t need to hold hands, this time, and Allie got the memo well enough to stand and follow suit. In silence, still.

Simon moved around the pile of steel and out through the construction zone. Like an almost memorized pattern, the same way that Bruce had led them the day they met. A back way that would ensure. Ensure. That they would meet no humans on their way around. However, they intended to circle fully to make it back out to the housing areas. The neighborhood where they could still make something out of this trip. It was still left hanging in the air if that was even something they wanted to do. If it was worth it. Going back to Jericho to see the big smile on Andromeda’s face when she got to say she told them nothing good would come of leaving. Simon stopped when he realized that—that was something neither of them really knew well enough how to face.

“Do you want to still try?” he asked Allie. Just before she knocked into him, her eyes still downcast.

“For gifts?” Allie almost scoffed. Not quite. A ridiculous idea that wasn’t quite too ridiculous to try. Instead, she nodded. “Of course. Can’t go back empty handed.”

It sounded easy enough. Playful enough. They’d circle back around until they found the route and be safe. On the way back, they’d go the long way around and never think twice. As though nothing had happened and that there were no police officers potentially searching for them. It would be perfect, all consequences unconsidered, because Allie was smiling. She was excited about this. Some pretense that she may find just those last few things she needed to fix Andromeda’s eye. Fixing something far beyond whatever Simon would ever know. And that was the only confidence he really needed to slot their hands together again and press out through the brush. Just a few alley ways back around to the other side of town, and they would be back out on the main street. Back on their route, but well past the area in which they had been caught before. Even if that officer had recognized Simon. Even if she had called on that radio. They would be fine.

The back way was clear.

The first dash across the street was clear.

The alley ways that followed, all but one was clear.

That one held a cat which Allie had to stop to scratch and smile at. Simon had let her, smiling, and they were back on the route in less than thirty minutes. Pleasant. Easy. And there was no issue stepping back out into the now heavy falling snow and taking a left back onto the main road. Where it was silent. Silent and comfortable. They were walking on along down the road again, and the neighborhood beyond wouldn’t be so much as a fifteen-minute walk. Through the darkness and the thick of the snow, Simon could even see the soft outline if he squinted, concentrated. As long as they’d been doing this, when a car passed by, neither of them felt so nervous, not as they had on the very first run. That was fear that even one car would spell recognition and then their doom. This car was no different.

A dark model with tinted windows that went by slow, where there were no tire treads in the snow, and the road was likely slick. Only, the car seemed more than cautious when it was suddenly turning around in the intersection ahead. It took more than a couple of turns before the car was back, facing them, headlights bright. Slower than it had gone by. Enough that Simon thought, against all odds, he might begin to sweat. It was nerves. Anxiety that there was something odd about this car. How nondescript it was. How slow it was approaching. Allie even came to a stop, her fingers wrapped tightly around Simon’s wrist.

“Simon.”

“I know,” he replied. “But we have to—let’s go,” he nodded in the direction they were going. If they acted like there was no problem—and stuck to it—it would go smoother than it had with Officer Sei. It had to.

“I could’ve outrun her,” Allie insisted, sneering through her teeth. “I can’t outrun a car—you can’t outrun a car.”

“No, but if we don’t _act_ like we’re in trouble—” a car door. Simon hadn’t even noticed the car had stopped. With the way Allie froze, she hadn’t either.

Then, footsteps. Crunching in snow. Pounding against the concrete beneath. Boots. Heavy. When Simon looked, he was staring down the barrel of a gun and into the face of that same man. With the scar on his nose and the scowl written over his face in angry lines. Simon pushed forward just before the trigger met the gun, falling forward into Allie onto the sidewalk, just through the back way where they had come. The shot ran out. The gun. He was scrambling up onto his feet and pulling Allie with him. Before the man could grumble his obscenities and around the corner of the building.

“You fucking androids thought I wouldn’t find you!?” the man was shouting. There wasn’t time to pull the trigger again before Allie and Simon were running.

“It’s been a year! It’s been a _year!_ _”_ Allie shouted behind her, but Simon just shook his head, furiously. They could talk about this later. When they got back to Jericho. After Andromeda gave them the talking to of a lifetime and they were safe.

“Left, left!” Simon called after her, hushed, best he could, and Allie turned. Simon followed, but he could hear the heavy clomp of boots behind them. The sound of the man working with the gun—the radio. Pounding up in his ears like shouts and screams, everything he’d ever wanted to escape. Following them.

Allie took a right, next, around an old dumpster and out through the space before them. A new part of the area that they didn’t know. But it didn’t matter. Those boots were still following, and the sound of sirens rose up in the distance. Calling out and driving on down the street, the one which Allie yanked them across. She had no plan. Vision closing in to see nothing but the slots between her. Down, another corridor, and the snow was picking up. There was but one advantage they had, and it was they could run longer. They could run longer than whoever that man was with the gun—but not the cars. Not when they could see the lights coming towards them, out on the street where they had planned to run.

There had to be another way. When Allie came to a halt, eyes wide and circuits desperate for another idea, Simon grabbed her and lead her down another way. There was no time to stop and think and analyze. They had to move. Boots. That man. A constant drumming in the background noise, rattling between the buildings. Nonstop. Just as fast, but not a step faster. He wasn’t gaining on them, but he showed no signs of stopping. No matter which way they turned, even as they circled back—there were police cars making rounds through the area, and that _man_. Following. Relentlessly.

“Are you sure he’s not some wild fucking cop android?!” Allie shouted forward.

Not that there was any time to check, any time to care. Even if Simon wanted to press on with her question and find out, because he had been keeping remarkably good pace with them. If they were ever going to lose him, if they were ever going to get back to Jericho—without company—they’d have to get creative. Somehow lose him. Outsmart a human. Simon mused, for only a moment, that it wouldn’t be too difficult. They just had to find somewhere to go, somewhere to hide. A building. They were surrounded by buildings. They just had to pick one. Just one. Maybe two. Two that connected. Simon looked up, and his whole world lit up in grid lines for a pause. A breath. A moment.

“Allie!” he yanked her down the next turn.

“Yeah just _scream,_ Simon, that’ll keep him off our tail—” but there was not time to continue complaining. Another shot rang out just in time for Simon to pull Allie into the building. The only open door, half broken, and the boards yanked off like someone had squatted there before. But—another shot.

Another shot.

Simon gulped and searched quick, eyes darting around. It was dark. Cold. Unpleasant. Dark. Dark. The thumping in the background—his thirium pump in his ears and the sound of boots. Of his boots. The shot. Simon was panting—he didn’t even need to breathe, but the anxiety was rolling up in his throat. Systems heating fast. And then. He yanked Allie forward, finally. Pushed her over towards the stair case at the back of the building. A split second was all it took before she was running, before she saw the stair case too. Some unspoken promise that Simon would follow—was following. So, she ran, grabbed onto the railing and yanked herself up the stairs two, three at a time. Simon didn’t have the strength to propel himself that quickly, but he was there.

Both of them, disappeared up the stairs and to the second floor by the time the officer—detective—whoever he was, made it into the building. Stopping for only a moment to lean heavily into the door frame before picking himself up by the back of his heels and running after. The second floor was nothing short of a mess. Lasting remnants of whatever fool had spent their remaining days here, before moving on. If they weren’t careful, it would be their final resting place. Allie was leading the way now, through the fallen beams, jagged pipes left to rust away. Across the way, another set of stairs. Up was the only way to go.

“There’s a sky bridge on the top floor,” Simon called after her.

No response, but she took the stairs as fast as she could. Simon followed. The man followed further behind. He was losing stride, now. It was their chance. Maybe the only one that they’d get. Simon pressed harder, and by the they had reached the fourth floor, the top floor, he could see their escape. The stairs and the obstacles were working in their favor. Tiring the man out faster than straight running through the roads had been. Once they made it out of the second building—Simon sucked in one more fake breath and pressed just a little harder. His leg was starting to ache in ways he never thought he’d have to deal with—not again, not as an android. Allie hadn’t even spared one look back. If she was the only one who made it out—

“Shut up,” Allie sneered back, taking one step to the toe to turn and face him, still moving backwards. “I can hear you thinking all the way up here. We’re both going home.”

Home.

Simon frowned and followed her. The man had just cleared the final staircase as they wrenched open the door to the sky bridge. Just enough for Allie to squeeze through. Just barely enough for Simon, and he had to duck beneath a wedged in beam. When the doors slammed back together, the beam was still there. Open just a few inches. With only himself and a human’s strength, this officer wouldn’t be able to follow so easily. Now it was just. Down the stairs. Out the front door. Back through the alley ways until they were in Jericho and the police force gave up. Again. Like they’d done the previous year. There was already victory bubbling up. Simon smiled. Watched with abject horror as Allie came to a jolted stop at the edge of—of something. Stopped, held against the wall and breathed deeply. Eyes wide.

Simon approached as fast as he could. Looking down with her to see where the stairs should have been. Where they had collapsed over time, leaving a wide-open hole in the floor. He could see, below, where they had crumbled up at the bottom of the building. Behind them, they could hear the struggled grunting of the officer. Trying to work his way through the doors. He wouldn’t even have to catch up with them—he had a gun. Three bullets left, assuming it was standard issue and he hadn’t reloaded since the first shots. Those were odds Simon didn’t want to fight.

“We have to jump.”

“Are you fucking _insane_?” Allie whirled to look at him, sneering out through her teeth like Simon had just suggested they wait to die.

“We have to,” Simon urged. “I’d rather die trying than whatever happens to us when we get caught.”

They either died free or they were dismantled, piece by piece, and recycled. Sold for parts. Ripped apart in the custody of the very people they were fighting to stay away from.

Allie set a hard line in her jaw and held her glare. But she turned slightly. Watching through the half-broken glass as the man wedged himself between the doors. They didn’t have the _time._ There was never enough time. There would never be time for them.

“Jump,” Allie told him. “I’ll follow. Go.” She stepped back, eyes still warily glancing behind them. When Simon hesitated, she turned her glare on him.

“I said _go!_ ”

Simon took a step back, two steps, and he ran. The leap he made at the end of the floor was just enough to make it down. He landed with a thump. Legs crumbled underneath him, and he rolled, stopped, and picked himself up on his hands and knees. He could see Allie’s wary footsteps above, pacing back and forth as she figured things out. Simon had made the jump easily. There were seconds remaining. Seconds until that man broke free, and she would die to a bullet. The risk was the same no matter what she did. She spared him a glance. The man. Growling with the strangest look painted over his face. And Allie’s heart caught in her chest as she turned towards the opening in the floor.

One step.

One step.

One step backwards.

She ran for it. Toe caught at the edge of the floor just as Simon had done. In nearly the same pattern, mapped out perfectly in her head.

Until it wasn’t.

Until she realized, too late, that she and Simon were not the same. She was older. Made of tougher things and heavier. Her foot never made it to the third floor down. And when Simon reached out for her—she was already too far down. Falling. Falling. Staring up as Simon scrambled over the edge to watch. And suddenly.

“Allie!” Simon shouted. Muffled by something clogged up in her ears. Where the edges of her sight were blurry and black with furled edges. She saw, all at once, as the man peered down through the hole. Breathing hard, sweating. So very much a human, standing over her in some form of. No. Not triumph. Resignation. She couldn’t see Simon, and neither could he. For the next moment, they only looked at each other. Where she could see and what she could know—this man didn’t add up. Not when he suddenly pulled back from her vision and was gone. Gone, like nothing had happened. Like it wouldn’t be worth it to find Simon, or that he’d already managed to escape.

Allie knew better.

It took three minutes and counting. Somewhere, her internal clock had broken. With the rest of her. She sputtered and thirium spat from her lips. Dripping down and staining her skin blue, blue, blue. She’d always been covered in it—this time it was different. Three minutes and counting, Simon was there. Panicking, sputtering, forming half broken words and nothing remotely close to a sentence. Like he couldn’t fathom what he was seeing at the top of a crumbled pile of rubble. One broken android, a metal railing sticking out straight through her chest. And she. She was laughing.

“Allie—” Simon all but dashed to her, taking up her hand when she pressed it into his chest.

“Too heavy to make the jump,” she made out. “Older model.” Her eyes rolled.

“No—No, hold on. I’m going to—I’m going to—”

She shook her head. “You’re not.” Her laugh turned sour all at once. A pathetic, choked out sob from her throat. “You can’t—I’m…” she trailed off, sniffed, but thirium was already leaking down from her nostrils. “I’m dying.”

Simon just shook his head, pursed his lips together, and held tighter to her hand than before. With both of his, keeping her arm close and fingers pressed into his chest where she could feel his heart beat. It pumped on in a beat she knew. A steady rhythm. Even as Simon appeared to be panting, breathing hard. Trying to find some reprieve.

“I don’t want to die—” she choked out. “I don’t want to—I don’t—” she inhaled suddenly. Choking on thirium and sputtering out another cough. More blue dripping from her chin. And tears. Tears, now, dripping from her eyes. In front of her, somewhere beyond where Simon stood, she could see the countdown.

Critical Systems Failing.

Thirium Leakage.

7:13:25.

“No, no, no,” Allie was crying now, freely. She pulled back her hand from Simon and used it instead to grip into his fingers. As hard as she could, enough to hurt. “Simon—Simon, you have to—you have to—” another hiccup. Instead, she yanked his hand down and pressed it into the space over her abdomen. Even through her shirt, Simon knew. And he curled up his hand into a fist over her regulator.

“You can’t _ask_ me that! I’m not going to—you can’t.”

“If you don’t do it, I’ll—I’ll—it’ll take _hours_ , Simon,” her voice processor was garbled. Filled with static. Thirium now like snot when a child cried too hard. “I don’t want to die here. Not like that. Never like that—please. _Hours._ _”_ Her voice trailed off at the end. As she thought about it. Impaled, here, immobile on a rod for hours just waiting for death to take her. No. She didn’t. She couldn’t.

“If you do it, I’ll be seconds,” she whispered. She didn’t continue, didn’t bother to continue. They both knew she wouldn’t survive being yanked off, either. Not long enough to get to Jericho where nobody but her had the knowledge to fix her. This was it.

“I’m so sorry,” Simon whispered. “If I’d been faster—”

“I’d have taken you down with me,” she cut him off. Quietly. Sternly. Staring at him and just shaking her head. This wasn’t the time for what ifs and should haves. “I’ll die free,” she choked out. “ _Free_ , Simon. Let me—please, let me have this.” Choked out through the tears now, the static in her throat.

His fist relaxed against her, open palmed and flat over her stomach. Over the regulator. Silent resignation, and she would never ask for more. Even if it hurt. Even if, suddenly, a whole new line of tears gushed from her eyes and a whine broke through her throat. This was it. The last time she’d ever seen Simon. The last conversation they’d ever have. She’d never see Andromeda again—never fix her eye, never apologize for what she’d done. She’d never hear Bruce call her that stupid nickname—she’d never be Little Lady again. She’d never fix another android. Never laugh with Carter. Never use Nathan’s tablet. Never sit down on the roof of Jericho and watch the sunset over a snow-covered city.

“Simon—”

“I’m here,” he told her. Her vision was failing, but she could hear him. The strain in his voice, the hiccup as he tried not to cry.

“Can I… Since, I mean—I won’t be around,” she was trying to laugh, trying to make light of the situation. “Can I know about you? Can I know where you came from? I won’t tell anyone—I promise—please, I…”

Simon didn’t answer her. She could see the stark white of his hand through the fog of her eyes and smiled. Pressed their hands together and let her eyes float shut. It all came rushing in at once. Fast. Unfiltered. Just a raw flash of emotions, of betrayal, happiness, sadness, anger. Everything an android could ever learn to feel pressed in through her system like the first time she’d ever learned free will. New and old all at the same time, a story not unheard of, but so open and vulnerable in this state. Every moment of Simon’s life, from the moment he’d opened his eyes, to the first step through the doors of Jericho. Everything. All at once. Then, nothing. Simon pulled his hand back, and Allie let hers drop down to the rubble. Laughing.

“For what it’s worth,” a fresh stream of blood from her lips. “He was a dick.”

Simon couldn’t help but choke out a laugh. But it was short lived. Solemn. Quiet. His next move was just as broken, as he unbuttoned the rest of Allie’s shirt. When he pulled up the tank-top she wore beneath, she’d already retracted her skin. No matter how human they looked, underneath it all was this hunk of plastic, metal, and circuits.

“Simon—” her voice stopped him. The fear quivering out through her teeth. Like final recognition that she’d asked Simon to _kill_ her. To shut her off for good. In some horrific mismatched play of mercy. Neither of them would be the same, after this. She would be gone, and Simon would be just a little more broken than before. Just another android who’d left their life with him. But, still. For all of it, he was patient. He was kind. He pressed his palm flat against her and waited.

“Set our people free, Simon,” she told him. Voice no louder than a whisper. A gust of wind. “When I wake up—” a half-choked sob, “I want to live in the world outside of Jericho.”

0:0:13—when he turned his hand and her thirium regulator popped loose. Then, a smile. Broken and blooded on her face when things went black. Smiling, smiling, smiling. Simon could still hear her laughter in the back of his mind as he rummaged through her backpack to find the tiny little screwdriver. The game that he’d plucked. He threw them and the thirium regulator into his own backpack, and then swiped the beanie from her head. It was red, red, red, and just how blue her blood had been. He held it close to his chest as he made his way out of the building. Back out into the silence of the snow, where all the police cars had since gone away.

Their plan had not been a secret. It was impossible with the way their Christmas had gone off without a hitch the previous year. Simon almost wished, for a moment, that it hadn’t. The one light they’d had should have never occurred, if it meant their disappearance today would not have been waited upon with bated breath and circuitry. When Simon stepped through the door of Jericho, into that main room—they were waiting. Eyes bright and wide. An air of joy, light and something soft. Until the door shut behind him, and he was alone. All at once, the room changed.

Andromeda straightened up from her perch and looked down at him. The way his hands wrung the beanie to his chest, how his eyes stayed downcast. Her voice was somehow more damning, more threatening, than the man with his gun had ever been. When she asked in all of her righteous self-glory:

“Where’s Allie?”

Simon couldn’t respond. The silence was filled with Andromeda’s strangled shout as she whirled around, her footsteps as she clambered her way down the staircase and across the metal floor. And the resounding slap of her hand into Simon’s face—the thud when he hit the floor from the force of it all.

“Are you happy now!?” Andromeda shouted. Shouted, and then stopped in a huff. “Are you happy now?” again, quieter. Softer. A broken part of her that she had never let them see, as her fists trembled at her sides.

Simon didn’t reply. Didn’t move. Didn’t see as Carter attempted to go to his side, to at least help him off the floor, but—

“Leave him,” Andromeda sneered. “He’ll get up when he’s read,” and she turned hard on her heels and just. Left. Disappeared down the hallway until the echoes of her feet stopped. All Simon could do was close his eyes and wonder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [CyberShips Tower](https://discord.gg/T7sW7DB)   
>  [Check Out My Tumblr If You Want To See More](https://tantumuna.tumblr.com)   
> 


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm BACK baby
> 
> Working through the holiday season was intense, and I was stressed. But, it's alright because I'm here and I have a chapter for you guys. I promise you this story is not dead, I'm just dead. I will revive myself one day. School just started, and so far it's going smooth. I've only got 2 in-person class days, the rest of it is online. Hopefully this will be a smooth, wonderful last semester, and I can get back into the swing of things.
> 
> The discord link at the bottom of this page--we're still open! Looking for some active members, honestly. We do more than talk about DBH, so it's whatever goes.   
> And, does anyone know what works best for trying to start a writing thing online? Should I go straight to a patreon sort of methord or try twitter, a dedicated tumblr? Idk, I'm struggling but writing is what I want to do, so no real better place to start than here, I guess.

December 25th, 2037-

It was dark, even as Simon woke up from whatever stupor he’d found himself in the night prior. Plagued by thoughts, and to think himself that shutting down would be enough to deter them. But he sat there and stared forward at the wall, as though he could see it through the thick darkness still around him as his body rebooted and reset. It still felt numb, even as time went by. Even as near a week had passed. Five days, to be exact, and the same feeling of helplessness beat on in his chest. A heart, he supposed, Allie had put in him in the first place. Right as it were that she ripped it away in the end, even if that wasn’t quite how the situation had unfolded. Still, there, across the room where the boxes were stacked and Allie once sat, now rested the thirium pump regulator. Next to the eye she never finished. An eye that would never be finished. Not in this lifetime.

Simon sighed and pushed himself further up, straighter. Like it might solve something, to appear more alive than he was. But. Even once he had stood, there was nothing but a hallow emptiness in his step. Nothing but the echoes of the ship as he crossed the room and, somehow, found himself picking up the regulator and thumbing along the ridges, the loose wires. If it came down to it, he wouldn’t be able to make up for what it meant, that Allie was gone. If another android stepped through the hull of the ship, seeking refuge, help, aid—Simon wouldn’t be able to provide that. At most, maybe he could spin a child’s tale or offer a warm smile. And, for a moment, the thought did make him laugh.

Whenever Mikaela had trouble sleeping, whenever she’d had a bad day at school, a spat with her friends, a story would calm her down. She loved them. Raved about them. Maybe even wanted to make her own someday, which had always brought a swell of pride to Simon’s chest. Back then, he didn’t understand the feeling. But now, knowing that the stories in his head were largely preprogrammed, but Mikaela could create anything. Nathan had had largely the same outlook. That he could do anything. However much of that was programmed and however much was some learning technology. Still, it was hope. Enough that Simon could at least muster the courage to set down the regulator and step away.

There was no tree, this time. Nobody gathered out in the main area. No gifts, no poorly patched lights. Just some low dropping aura that hung heavy in the air as Simon stepped through. The room was empty. Not even Andromeda was perched atop her railings. Nothing. Just, as it always was, the echoes of the ship settling around him. Simon sighed. Before he could even step fully out into the room, he turned on his heel and made way back through the hallway. Back to his room, where the door he had left slightly ajar was now swung wide open. And, standing there in the middle of the room, that familiar red poncho draped around her shoulders.

“Andromeda?” Simon stepped in, made sure that the door didn’t swing too far and hit the wall. Just seeing her, the sting on his cheek felt fresh. When she’d slapped him. Looked at him with such horrid disdain that he was sure she’d died then, too. He stiffened in the doorway when she made turn on her heel. To look at him.

“I thought to find you here,” she muttered, kept her eye downcast. She’d already seen it. He knew.

She stayed frozen, there, in the middle of the room while Simon worked his way around her. There was something hanging in the hair, not so much sadness as a quiet, seething rage. Her shoulders were shaking, and she could barely stomach to look Simon in the eye when he noticed just what was missing from the stacks of boxes. The regulator was still there, but the eye. He understood all at once what she’d meant to do when she’d come here. Another shouting match. That the wound was made fresher by Christmas, the very reason Allie had pressed so hard to leave Jericho again. Because she wanted something to come of this day, just a quiet celebration to make Jericho feel more like home than tomb. Instead, Andromeda had been sorely reminded of everything she’d lost in that moment. With the eye, half unfinished.

“She meant to give it to you today,” Simon muttered. “If I knew anything about fixing—”

“I don’t want your sympathy,” her voice trembled. “It wouldn’t have meant anything fixed from _you_.”

It stung, the truth. The eye was Allie’s to give and Allie’s to fix. Simon had ruined that chance. Just like he’d ruined Nathan’s chance of ever surviving. The unspoken blame still hung about. Andromeda had never once tried to deny that was exactly how she felt. She blamed Simon for all of it. Now, just one more thing to add to his docket of horrible crimes. Unforgivable crimes.

“I’m sorry,” Simon muttered. Like it meant something.

Andromeda scoffed in turn. Clearly it meant nothing. Not to her. It might never mean anything to her, and even if Simon spent the rest of his life on his knees in begging for forgiveness, it would never come. So, he just shook his head and folded his arms. Waited for her to say something that he might find solace in responding to, or that she might simply just leave. Just another line of unspoken judgment that he wasn’t ready to hear. Whatever it was, besides, he’d already said to himself.

“You don’t even know what you’re sorry for,” Andromeda decided on. She turned, all at once, and yanked Simon back by his shoulder so he had to watch. Watch, while she dug into her own half crumpled face, where her bright red eye had always been, and yanked it from the place it sat deeply in her skull. When it clattered to the floor, light flickering out until it died, Andromeda worked her fingers quickly, nimbly, in a fashion all too similar to the way Allie had worked. Until the new eye, ever broken as it was, was installed where the old had sat. Andromeda looked strangely human, for a moment. A bright blue eye. A human eye. That no doubt offered her no visual information, but that didn’t matter as much as the meaning.

“It’s mine,” Andromeda sneered. “I won’t let you take everything from me.”

He had never intended that. Surely, she knew, but she had no interest in hearing apologies from excuses from motives. None of it mattered. She saw the path in front of her as one that would lie empty, because Simon stole the only two things in the world that had mattered to her. From the moment he entered Jericho, something had shifted. Something had changed, and it was a change she wasn’t willing to accept nor face as the days drawled on. Part of it, Simon understood. If he had not been so unceremoniously forced from his home, he might have stayed and endured whatever treatment Vincent or Tanya offered. However cruel or however kind, but only for the sake of familiarity. He knew them, he knew their words and their actions. It was safe. Change was difficult. For anyone—even androids, who relied so heavily on preprogrammed protocol and ideals. It left Simon with little chance and little care to explain himself to deaf ears.

Instead, he watched Andromeda disappear out into the hallway. Listened to the thumping of her feet as she made her way through, echoes, and then silence. Only then did he feel well enough to move again, to collapse back onto the makeshift bed and light out a heaving sigh. It was better, this way. To spend the day locked away in his own little room in his own little part of Jericho, away from everyone else. While there was nothing so to say that others felt the same as Andromeda did, that Simon had somehow been the death ringer upon Jericho, something tugged at the back of his mind and told him so. That’s how they felt about him, and that’s how he’d allow them to feel.

His ideas hadn’t changed. He still believed that Jericho should be more. That they could do more, and ever listened to the words that Allie left him with. To set their people free. Surely, if someone like him could do something so grand, then maybe Jericho wouldn’t be a half empty prison cell. The thoughts felt near like poison, and Simon decided it would be better not to listen. Instead, he closed his eyes and plucked at all the right cords, all the right routines, until darkness had overtaken him once more.

 

January 15th, 2038-

Not so much a dream, but a memory. Of himself. Watching as he’d collapsed, but he wasn’t in his own mind then, or his own body. Instead, he’d rushed forward just as he’d hit the floor, and from there, Standby ended abruptly, and Simon was left panting. Confused, disoriented. He looked at his own hands in a sudden bout of disbelief. In the dream—memory—whatever it was he wanted to call it. He’d watched as _he_ reached out to grab himself and seen hands so fine that he remembered them. When nails were artificially implanted, it was hard to break them, and though Allie had always had a bit of dirt here or there, her hands were soft enough. Smooth enough. And, for a moment, they’d been his hands.

Back in reality, however, there was a pounding in the back of his head. A headache, maybe, if androids got those. It felt like a tugging, a breaking. Pounding on the walls of his mind to get into something that maybe he wasn’t quite supposed to have. It reminded him well of the vision he’d seen the first time he’d ever broken free of his orders. Though, that was a thought he didn’t let linger for long. Better not to see that. Better to continue to dwell on whatever was tingling down through the tips of his fingers. It reminded him of something. Like when he’d first, _willingly_ , pressed his white hand into Erin’s and learned something from her. All the other times, interfacing—or so it was—hadn’t entirely been Simon’s choice. But with Erin, it had been. He’d wanted to learn how to fight, and a transfer of files had been the fastest and easiest way to do that.

With Allie, it had been. He’d done it so she could learn, but what was to say that he hadn’t been given something in the process. All he had to do was find it, and it had something to do with that dream—that memory. He remembered it, or most of it. When Allie had caught him just before he fell to the ground, after he’d been shot. If he could find a way to see that again, to bring it back before he’d so rudely woken himself. Surely, he could find whatever was at the end of it. He’d missed so much of that time and somewhere in it was the answer.

When he closed his eyes, the memory appeared almost instantly. His own hands—Allie’s hands, he corrected, even if he stared through her eyes and her movements were his own—grabbed Simon as he fell. A beat, two beats, then she hoisted him up with all the strength she could muster. The panic, the running, the tangling through the streets. Until it all came crashing down when she jumped him on the floor of Jericho in a blind frenzy. To save his life—save his life—and suddenly Simon’s world lit up with code and lines and errors. Information. All in bright, pigmented teal, computerized, technical. Pointing out the problems in detail, scrolling words in code that he didn’t quite understand, but he did. He had a feel for the way the letters and numbers bent together, outside of his own mind. Looked over his own body lying on the floor, through Allie’s eyes, and seemed to understand.

He found himself wishing he hadn’t let Andromeda take the eye, though it was meant for her. He might have better been able to understand this if she’d left it, if he really knew what he thought he knew. If Allie had really foreseen something like this happening well enough in advance to have prepared something like this to transfer to another android. Even if it was Simon, who wasn’t sure he’d actually be able to do whatever it was when the time came. But that didn’t mean he didn’t suddenly _know_. And how marvelous it was, still, that learning was this easy. One hidden file was all he needed to suddenly know that he could, given that he was able to muster his courage, fix an android.

Fix himself, even. There was absolutely no rush to try, to come across a situation where he could test to see if this was a real, working knowledge, or just a feeling she’d left him with as some final-parting pride booster. That didn’t negate that that’s how it felt. A swell of confidence. It’d disappear as quickly as it came, when the time came, but Simon would relish in it until that happened. It was the first real thing that had happened. Since Allie’s death. Since the turn of the new year. He was determined to at least put it to good use, once. At some point. Until that point, though—

Carter had never really found a room at Jericho. Nothing really suited him, he said. Much like the rest of city maintenance androids, he’d been stored more than housed. As such, he preferred to wander. Preferred to sit down and nap wherever looked most comfortable. Sometimes, it was just out in the main room, but today, he was holed up off in a dead-end hallway where they’d stacked excess boxes. When he was alone, like this, he never seemed to be doing much of anything. Save the occasional talking to himself, which he was doing. Quiet mumblings of something that Simon couldn’t quite place, but he never found it strange. Mikaela talked to herself. So, did Vincent. Simon even, every now and again, talked to himself. He always stopped when he noticed someone else. Looked to continue talking, but with someone who could reply and converse. At Simon’s entrance, Carter smiled and smoothed down over his jacket.

“Hey,” he waved.

Simon nodded and made himself comfortable, perched up on top of a box. Then, silence. Then, an exploding, quick bout of laughter that came out in a huff.

“Allie was the best of us. This was her last ‘I-told-you-so’,” he marveled, looking at his own hands.

“What you mean?” Carter raised an eyebrow. Allie was nothing short of a sore subject, for all of them. Even him, who admittedly didn’t know her quite as well as Simon, and nowhere near as well as Andromeda. She’d still been the one to save him.

“Before she—” Simon cut short and shook his head. “She wanted to interface.” One of her many dying wishes, demanding as she always was. “When she did, she must have done something. I thought I was just sharing with her my experience, but she’d done more. I found it, today. A locked file, but it’s open now.”

“What was it?”

“Just information. How she was able to look at an android and know what was wrong, know how to fix them as fast as she did. She—she gave that to me. Somehow, and I feel relieved? Happy? I’m not sure,” he ended with a breathy sort of laugh.

Carter tilted his head then nodded, like he understood. Played at understanding, really, as he thought it over. It did make sense, especially if Allie knew something that none of them had. And the chances of finding another android so well versed in android repairs was next to none, especially with the age of her model. There were others, of course, but they were newer. Maybe it would take them longer to come to whatever crossroads brought androids to Jericho.

“So, what? You can fix androids now? Should I go break my arm on something?” Carter laughed and leaned back into the wall, lounging. He let his eyes close a minute to relax, and when he opened them, Simon was looking at him with a rather serious glare. Like he was considering the option.

“Dude, I’m not—”

“I know,” Simon held up his hand. “I was just thinking.”

Which sounded reasonable, but Carter still raised an eyebrow. He leaned forward onto his knees, watching as Simon mulled some important thought over, then smiled.

“I’m a little honored. Came to tell me first, huh? Anyone else know?”

Simon shook his head, “I’m not quite sure of it myself yet. If it’s real, or if she just sort of—maybe she wanted to leave me with something?” he dropped his head then, looking down at the dirt on the ground. “You don’t know what it was like. Watching that, _causing_ that.”

“You could share,” Carter offered his hand and his invitation, facial expression never changing. Serious, sincere. Simon almost wanted to take him up on the offer, but he just shook his head. This was a little too much. A little too personal. He’d have to tell everyone he told Allie parts about himself he’d never tell anyone—and only because she was _dying_. He already looked bad. Nathan’s and Allie’s blood on his hands. He didn’t need that stigma either.

That he was too afraid of his own past to share it. Though, the thought made him laugh, and Carter looked at him a little funny.

“I think we should share this with everyone first. In case something goes wrong. I think Andromeda might even look at me different, too. If she knew that I—” he stopped abruptly to look at his hand, “well, that I could do something helpful for a change.”

“You’ve already done helpful. She’s just got a stick up her ass or something. Loose wire,” and he gestured to his scallop. Simon couldn’t help but crack a smile at the sentiment.

By the end of the day, the whole of Jericho knew what Simon could do. Knew that Allie, in her last moments, had left something with him that might keep the rest of them alive far longer than she’d ever foreseen, even in that moment. Granted, however, that Simon could figure out how to use this information in a crisis. But he was beginning to relish in his ability to think in high pressure situations. Even Andromeda had a smile to spare for the news, however sad it looked. However, dull the new eye appeared under proper lighting. Just the final confirmation that it didn’t work, and she’d never let him fix it.

 

February 27th, 2038-

Simon noticed it first, just walking through the bottom levels of the ship. Much like the first walk they’d taken together, he and Bruce often reconvened to just meander through in quiet conversation. Bruce never had an abundance of things to say, but he would at least listen when Simon needed someone to listen. Even if most of it was mindless; Simon still hadn’t found the courage to share anything with anyone. Not about himself, not about Allie, and this provided the perfect opportunity to drop all thought about himself anyway. When he first noticed it. The stutter in Bruce’s voice, like static. Bubbling up from his throat somewhere, not too dissimilar to how Andromeda sounded on her best days. Her vocal processor had all but gone out, but Simon could tell now that Bruce’s was beginning to fail.

Not that Bruce seemed too concerned with it. He cleared his throat and went right on talking about an android who’d worked on the construction site. The static was lesser, then, but it didn’t go away. Didn’t completely diminish, even as Bruce trailed off talking and let Simon fight the silence instead. With every manufactured breath he took, there was interference. By the time they finished the clearest loop of the bottom hold, Simon had to stop and really give Bruce a once-over.

“You sound strange,” he said, flatly. Bruce barely even raised an eyebrow to the sudden outburst; he simply shrugged.

“Is normal for things to break, yes?” He wasn’t exactly wrong, but nonchalant, nonetheless. Which concerned Simon, especially when Bruce simply went along to climb the staircase like he _didn_ _’t_ know that Simon might be able to repair him. Or he didn’t trust that Simon could. After what most of them had come from, it made sense that he might not want to give himself up to be a guinea pig. Not with the abuse that androids went through. Even trust with another android could be hard won and harder to keep.

“When you think, Kitten,” Bruce’s laugh was half broken, but hearty, “your face scrunches up like sour taste. Is very funny but must be painful. What’s on your mind?”

“You,” Simon stuttered a moment after, “Your—I mean your,” he gestured to his own throat, “your voice. You sound funny.”

“So, you have said. Problem?”

“No, no problem. Just, well, there could be. Not with me, if that’s what you’re asking?” As if it really mattered what Simon thought, one way or the other, about what Bruce sounded like.

“You seem to have problem,” Bruce scoffed to himself. Amused, not so much offended at Simon’s insistence, but certainly entertained. He kept walking when they hit the top of the stair case, and Simon struggled to keep up with him. It was the height advantage, and damned if it wasn’t all in Bruce’s legs. Still, Simon kept a light jog.

“You could, with your voice? Do _you_ not have a problem with it?”

“No. Kitten always trying to fix things, but this is not thing that need fixing. Is fine,” Bruce even reached out to ruffle his fingers through Simon’s hair. Patronizing, still laughing through his smile. Simon frowned. All that, or Bruce really did see this for what it was. A good excuse to try out his new knowledge, to see if he really could repair androids. A vocal box was not life threatening, even if he failed and it went out. Bruce would still be able to _communicate,_ just not so easily.

Simon let it drop, after that. Let his pace slow so he didn’t out do himself just running after Bruce. Bruce, who wanted to be left alone at this point. He’d seen enough talking and androids for the day to last him the remainder of it, so his pace had not slowed. This was simpler, the path of least resistance, and Simon was nearly back at his room anyway. There, he could hole up with himself and the tablet and find ways to pass the time without fanfare and without whatever scrutiny he was getting from Bruce. Silence was beginning to sound wonderful.

Only, like most things, it didn’t seem to last. Not a few hours later, Simon was hearing about the problem all over again. Not from the source, this time, but from Carter, who always came bursting in like the world was ending _and_ he owned the room. Simon nearly jumped right off the bed when the metal door bashed into the wall. The boxes protested the sudden vibration that went through the metal, and then silence again. Only, Carter was standing there like he’d just discovered something horrid. Simon already knew though and looked on rather unimpressed.

“Bruce can’t even fucking talk, it’s crazy! Did you know? Come on, you knew,” he pointed, “and didn’t even tell me?”

“Wait, he _can_ _’t_ talk?” Simon had to wonder then. Carter took the moment to straighten up and situate his clothing, then shrugged.

“Well, it’s all static-y and stuff? You knew though, didn’t you?” he looked dejected.

“Yes,” Simon confirmed. “He told me it wasn’t a problem.”

“I think it’s a problem.” Carter frowned. “We were talking about, like,” he waved his hands in the air, “stuff. You know, _important_ stuff, and his mouth keeps moving but there no words coming out. Then—then they just pick up mid-sentence, and it’s all garbled static. It’s bad. Not like—” he shifted, folded his arms and thought about it, “Andromeda bad. But like, my bad, you know?”

Simon blinked. Blinked again, long enough to process everything Carter had said without overheating, then nodded. “And you want me to fix it?” Laughable. “Bruce said it wasn’t a problem.”

“Well, I’m saying it’s a problem, and that old brute will listen to me,” Carter put his hands on his hips and frowned. That usually meant he meant business. And he did—mean business. If Simon didn’t get up and follow him out to go fix whatever issue Bruce was having, or at least try, Carter wasn’t going to be happy. Which left Simon with little choice; he sighed.

“Alright. I guess we can try this out? I haven’t really looked too deep into it.” A sudden doubt that Carter wasn’t having. He almost entirely ignored Simon’s concerns before he turned and made his way down the hallway.

He returned exactly seven minutes and forty-nine seconds later when Bruce in tow, who looked nothing short of annoyed. He wasn’t quite angry; he hadn’t even taken the time to take his harm back from Carter’s no doubt rather weak grip. In comparison, of course. Which meant there was a part of Bruce that wanted this problem to disappear as fast as it had appeared. Hopefully, Simon could help. Even if those seven minutes had provided him with just enough time to go over every possible scenario in which he could ruin this completely. All of it hinging on whether or not this file Allie had left him with quite literally _everything_ she knew about android repair was real or something designed to make Simon feel a little better. After what happened, either would do, just not in this scenario. Where suddenly Bruce was sitting down on the stack of boxes and tipping his head back. Closing his eyes. Pulling back his skin.

Carter looked away, like he always did. He didn’t like thirium, and he didn’t like seeing their insides.

Simon mustered whatever strength he had to stand, and a mystery had him cross the room enough to actually look over Bruce. To open up the cavity in his throat just like the file that popped up in his head told him to do. And just like it’d shown him in Allie’s memory, there were suddenly pointers and information popped up in his display. Pointing out the different parts, the wires, the tubes that ran through Bruce’s neck. He’d never known much about any of it, just what androids came installed with. Enough knowledge to be able to diagnose a problem for their _owners_ , and nothing really more. Androids had some ability to self-repair, but when it was internal, it was harder. That’s why androids like Allie existed. To fix what androids couldn’t fix themselves. And now.

Now, Simon was almost giddy with joy. He knew the names of the parts, their individual function, and everything extraneous. Right down to the screws that might hold them in place deeper in the body. And there, in bright red with an equally concerning line, was an error. Where it might have been in code for any person to find and fix the issue, for androids, it displayed as common language. Easy to understand without unnecessary steps of matching codes to problems. And, even simpler, the problem wasn’t all that difficult to fix. Some disconnected wires and misaligned parts. Mostly likely caused from the unsavory conditions they’d been living in. Just like that, it popped back into place, and Simon stepped back.

The display fell away from his line of sight. Bruce’s skin returned after the cavity had been closed, and he rolled his head forward to rub along his neck. He coughed, tested it with a quick series of words, then regarded Simon with a peculiar look. Not only had he not openly believed that Simon would be able to fix it, he also hadn’t really put much stock into this sudden ploy of knowledge. Interfacing wasn’t too far off from whatever took place in the factories where they were manufactured, put together with knowledge to help them in whatever field they were built for. It was just after the fact and slightly stranger. But now it was something they knew they could trust for more than just the transfer of painful memories, which, in a way, brought some relief over Simon.

“I am impressed,” Bruce decided on, finally. His sudden full sentence had Carter finally turning back around, and even the slight tinge of blue on Simon’s hands didn’t faze him as he approached quickly. Excitedly.

“You sound normal again! That’s great, that’s wonderful,” he turned to Simon. “That’s good right? Means something went right?” and one well-placed jab to Simon’s forehead to make the point stick.

Simon laughed. It felt strained, rough in his throat. It was enough to stop Carter and Bruce, for them to stare Simon up and down, then join him. In the months, Simon hadn’t been laughing, much less even smiling. Everything was heavy, and a moment for laughter left few and far in between. This was something, and it meant something.

“It worked, it worked. She really,” he broke off in another jolt of laughter, “she really told me off one last time.” Always better, always one step ahead. Always smiling, even until her very last breath. Something she’d tried to teach Simon to do, and something he’d been a failure in. That wouldn’t change. It wasn’t in his nature—a funny thought in light of his _being—_ to be that lighthearted. But he could appreciate the moments. The way Carter seemed to fall into Bruce in his laughter, kicked out his feet into Simon’s shins to keep him in the moment.

“It won’t always be that easy,” Simon said. He had to say it.

“Yeah, but don’t, like, kill the moment? It’s not life or death.”

“Not yet,” Simon amended.

Even Bruce had to roll his eyes, “Kitten is always thinking of worst scenario. Think of best case instead. May find shoulders lighter at end of day.”

He was probably right. Simon could barely muster a response, so he kept his words to himself and just let the two laugh. Bruce sounded normal again and was glad of it. As much as he’d tried to play off an unconcerned notion towards the vocal processor, talking was certainly the easiest way to communicate. He just so happened to be around people who enjoyed, loved, relished in a constant stream of talking. Sure, he’d never much been one for it himself, but there was something about the reciprocity he could at least appreciate. For that, he offered Simon a quiet thanks. A nod and a smile. Simon waved it off, in his way, and let it lie.

 

March 18th, 2038-

Somehow, more androids flocked into Jericho. Over the month, on four separate occasions, more androids had poured in through the front. One alone, another in a group, one clinging desperately to the fleeting life of their friend, and one, lone gardener model with a funny twitch in his eye. Through all of it, the time since their last new androids had arrived, things were calm. The calmness was a refreshing change after all was said and done, and how things were going smoothly. But things weren’t always just so, not always quite so easy. Not when the pair had arrived, one android already shutting down, and the other in such a state of hysteria that it had taken days to calm him down.

His friend died on the table before Simon could even open his abdominal cavity.

But there were good things too. Things that fell right back into place, into normality. Andromeda perched up and leaning against her railings. Vix and Erin huddled off in the corner with their own, private little happiness. Simon took walks every now and again with Bruce to talk of things, and Carter sometimes holed up in Simon’s room at night when he thought it was finally time to go into Standby. Sometimes it was Bruce’s room. Sometimes it was that corner with the boxes that he liked to hole up in. Mostly, though, Simon had noticed Logan taking his place as the new resident child android. He fit the hole that Nathan had left nicely, snuggly, and even if he rarely left his mother’s side, Logan had taken quite the liking to Josh.

Simon was poking around with something he’d found rotting on the bottom of Jericho’s hull. An old module for something in the ship, but nothing too fantastic that he couldn’t look away from it for a moment. Not when he heard the approaching steps, Logan shouting something, overjoyed. When they stepped in. Logan was perched up on Josh’s shoulders with his arms out, making raspberries with his lips like he was an airplane. Josh was tall, almost as tall as Bruce, and Logan was using it to his full advantage. Swerving left and right; Josh followed the bend of his waist to walk zig-zag across the floor. Until Josh finally came to a stop where Angelica was curled up on the floor, her knees pulled close to her chest. There, he set Logan down on his feet and let him waddle forward into Angelica.

“Josh took me all over the ship!” Logan shouted. He wormed his way between Angelica’s knees, until she’d let him curl up in her lap with his head on her chest. “I flew everywhere, mama!”

“Everywhere? My,” she laughed, quietly, and looked up at Josh. Just the slightest smile bloomed out on her lips, “that’s quite amazing. Did you see many things?”

Logan nodded. He promptly fell into a grand explanation of his time in the sky. His imagination was wild, active. Very indicative of what a child his age would be like, and very much an improvement from the quiet, depressed child he’d been upon arrival. Even Angelica was talking more, though she was always quiet. Her eyes always seemed a little unfocused and never quite bright enough. Still, she talked, she engaged with the other androids, and she always had a smile to spare for Josh. Always bright on thin lips and just a little too long. Josh returned the smile, even waved, and took his leave.

“Careful,” Simon warned, “you may have a following soon.”

Josh took a seat beside him, propped up on the crates where he always was, out in the main room. “I wouldn’t mind it so much. If it helps make things easier, that’s all I want.”

Simon smiled. He glanced over Josh from the corner of his eye, then back to his fiddling with the little module. Josh leaned over his shoulder and watched, marveled in it for a moment. Everyone knew what Simon could do, even the newer androids. They didn’t so much need to know _why_ he knew what he did, but they still knew he could repair. Only, it worked on androids and androids alone. He couldn’t do the fiddling that Allie did. That didn’t mean he wasn’t about to try and learn, using whatever he could pick up from working on androids and applying it to other machinery. It couldn’t be too different.

“She’d be impressed,” Josh commented, nudging into Simon’s shoulder.

“Please, you’re patronizing me,” Simon looked up to pass on a smile. He couldn’t hide the giddiness—being told he was doing something good, especially in the name of something he’d done so wrong. Even if it wasn’t true. Allie would make fun of him for being so slow to pick up the new stuff. They both knew that.

“You know I wouldn’t. Really, she’d be proud. You’re trying, right?” after a pause, they both began to laugh. Allie would’ve laughed at him. In the shrill, high pitched, ludicrous way that she did. Always overly joyful for her surroundings. It felt nice to laugh like that. Between the two of them, they matched it.

After a moment, it came to an end. The laughter—it always did. But it left Simon feeling relieved, a little lighter than he normally did. He could do anything, after this. Not only did he have that confidence, but there was no way that he could do nothing. Not after what had happened, not after Allie’s wish. It’d been stewing in the back of his mind for months, bleeding out into things he did every day. Of all things, it did form itself a new way to poke at his own emotions, instead of purposefully dredging up reports of _deviants_ or looking into school activities, town activities—anything that would lead him back to the Wilks.

“She told me something before she died,” he said, suddenly. Josh didn’t react immediately, just turned slightly that he could hear Simon clearly. This was something he’d never told anyone, not even Andromeda could know. But he trusted Josh. This information wouldn’t leave the space between them.

“She wanted me to save us. Somehow, I don’t know—I don’t even know if it’s possible. But she wanted me to save us. Save androids. But,” and he trailed off then, gripping the collar of his sweatshirt.

“But?” Josh urged, quietly. Almost a whisper. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” a reminder.

“I know, I just—I have to. I have to tell someone,” Simon scoffed to himself. “I’ll go crazy if I don’t.”

“You might have already missed that—”

“Josh,” Simon tried to scold him, but ended up biting off the tail end of a laugh instead. “Josh, this is serious.”

“Allie was never serious. You didn’t have to know her well to know that. But,” he put up his hands in surrender, “this was, I understand. What did she say?”

Simon’s smile turned soft, sad, “she told me she wanted to live in the world outside of Jericho when she woke up.”

Josh’s hand on his shoulder was a welcome sign of comfort and support, in that moment. He didn’t even say anything in return, just offered a firm hand and a silent nod. Allie hadn’t meant anything by it, or Simon could hope, anyway. After he ran, there’d be no way he could ever find her body again. And, even if he could, it’d be too far gone to do anything to salvage her, bring her back to life. Some kind of officer had been on their tail, anyway. Even if Allie’s body would’ve been fine for however long it might take to find her, it was more likely that the police department snatched her up as evidence or that city cleaning sent her to be recycled. There was no waking up, not from that. Not to see a world where they didn’t have to live and hide inside of Jericho. But it was a trust that somehow— _somehow_ —Simon could be the one to cause it.

“Set our people free…” Simon muttered to himself, twiddling the module in his fingers.

“Hm?” Josh looked at him.

“That’s what she said. Set our people free,” then he snorted. “Like I could do something like that.”

“Maybe not,” Josh agreed in a huff as he moved back to his feet, straightening his clothes and folding his arms. “We could, though. Jericho. You’re not the only one here.”

He moved away when Logan came tugging at his pant leg. Something about his mother, about Angelica. She had a strange pain in her knee and didn’t want to stand. Josh followed along when Logan became insistent, back off around the room where Angelica was sitting. Simon stayed where he was, and he set the module to the side. He wouldn’t ever get it, not the way that Allie did. She didn’t just follow the prompts, she really understood what they meant and how to apply them. But that was fine. There were things he could do that she couldn’t. Like talk to people with such ease. When Logan came for him next, he didn’t bat an eye. He pulled Logan up to sit beside him and had the perfect story ready to keep him quiet and happy.

 

April 24th, 2038-

It was any other day that Simon wished wasn’t happening. Wished that it didn’t have to happen, that it could’ve happened earlier, later—any point at which he didn’t have to be the one to hear the cry and the call and the frantic babbling of a child. When Logan had burst into his room with Josh in tow, screaming and crying. He’d looked just like Nathan for a moment, and then Simon realized what he was being told. He was Allie. He remembered all the times they’d come in panic to grab her, to make her fix everything. Make the problem go away. But _he_ had to make the problem go away now. He had to fix it. He had to run down the hallway, trying to configure parts and things that he would need to do this. But unlike Allie, he couldn’t make that call before he _saw_ the android. Angelica.

Sometime during the night she’d collapsed. Whatever she’d been complaining about in her leg hadn’t been the case. Something else gave out and she went with it. A bang loud enough that the hull of Jericho had probably shaken, and nobody had heard it but Logan. Angelica was all he had, the only real thing left from the life he’d come from that had been so much better than anything Simon could’ve hoped to see anywhere. He didn’t deserve this, to lose the last of it. If Simon was all that stood between them, he’d have to deal with that pressure later. All there was now was Angelica, lying cold on the floor in the middle of the room. No time to move her, no time to think.

“What do you need?” Josh was asking before Simon’s knees even hit the floor.

Simon yanked away Angelica’s shirt, a loose button up that probably didn’t belong to her and pressed his palm into her stomach. Under the press, her skin retreated, and she went white. Then, like clockwork, the display popped up in Simon’s field of vision, listing off errors and potential problems. Parts, parts that he would need to fix her, as he ripped open her abdominal cavity. Then, more definitive information. More likely scenarios. What could be wrong, and he found stammers in return. Trying to formulate a plan, an idea. Allie wouldn’t be panicking. Allie would’ve known—

“I need thirium, any spare parts you can find,” Simon bit out. “Anything, just—I don’t know yet, anything!” he shouted back.

Josh disappeared. Logan was still there, screaming, his little hands digging into Simon’s shoulder while he tried to think. Tried to understand what was showing up before him. Between the red and the teal and the screaming. Logan was crying. This was his mother. As close as he’d ever have to one as an android, built in a factory. There was more than an obligation here. Simon stopped, reminded himself of that, and breathed. He closed his eyes and counted.

One beat.

“Simon, you have to help her, please!”

Two beats.

There were footsteps. Josh couldn’t be back by now, so it was someone else. Carter always heard things before anyone else, somehow. Given how there was a scrape against the floor, he’d turned around immediately at the sight.

Three beats.

Andromeda was watching from her perch, unhelpful as usual.

Simon opened his eyes again and the display had calmed down. It pointed out what mattered now, the extraneous information disappeared and left things he wasn’t sure he knew what to do with. But it was something to work with. He couldn’t do anything until Josh brought the storage, not with Angelica. Logan was a different story. Simon could do things Allie couldn’t: he could keep people calm when they needed it. He turned on the floor and took Logan by the shoulders, holding him just tight enough to stop the shaking, but not enough to hurt him. Firm. Like a parent.

“She’ll be okay,” Simon told him. “She’s still there, just quiet, okay? You go to sleep sometimes, don’t you?”

Logan stared forward, tears still brimmed in his eyelids.

“Logan?” Simon urged just a little farther. Only then did Logan nod. Slowly, at first, then a little faster.

“That’s all she’s doing,” Simon insisted. “So, can you go sit down for me? I need the time to work, okay?”

Logan nodded again and let his shoulders go slack. The shaking was done, the tears were done. He sniffed one final time before scurrying off to the side of the room where Simon confirmed what he’d thought. Carter had heard the racket and come to see, but now he was sitting off where he didn’t have to look at an open android and the loose thirium. Logan would be fine. Angelica would be fine too. Simon just needed the part and a few tools, and it would all be in the box. After they’d lost Allie, Simon stashed her tools. They didn’t need them, wouldn’t have had anyone who knew what to do with them if Allie hadn’t done what she did.

When Josh arrived, he dropped the box beside Simon, and everything was just as it should have been. He took out the belt of tools, the thirium, and nothing more. There was nothing more. Not as he started digging. Looking, searching, for anything that matched. Anything that was comparable to the part listed up in his display. If he could find something, maybe he could make it work. Allie did. Allie put a _prototype regulator_ in his chest to keep him alive, and somehow it worked. Angelica didn’t need anything that intense. If Simon hadn’t known better, it would just seem like she was shutting down, giving up after a time long served, but. There was damage, internally. Androids were tough on the best of days, but that one—that android—had kicked her around enough to cause damage. Less vital systems were shutting down, but they were shutting down all at once. And he needed _one part_ to fix it.

“Where is it?! I know we had one, we have to have one! We have one of everything at this point—” he thought they did. He left Angelica lying there to stand, to better dig through the crate and _look_.

“Was this everything? Tell me there were more—?”

Josh shook his head, “That was all I could find. Other boxes were just filled with junk parts. Broken or,” he shrugged, “extra. Nothing she could need.”

Simon’s heart sunk, and he abandoned the box. It was a matter of luck, at this point, and trust in whatever crazed system Allie had rooting around in her head. If it would be enough to piece this together, to figure something out. Through the wires. Through the thirium. There had to be something, there had to be anything that he could do. He messed with the parts, probed at the wires. If anything was loose or out of place, he’d find it and put it back where it belonged. Maybe that would solve the issue. Maybe she was low on thirium and hadn’t mentioned it—they had plenty enough. Not enough to go around, but maybe enough to save one android from dying.

When two options exhausted themselves, he pressed on further and tried to find something else. Skirting around the suggestions in the display, around the blatantly obvious errors. Because he couldn’t _fix_ those. They hadn’t done parts runs since—since before Allie, before they’d even talked about going out for Christmas. After Nathan died, they just hadn’t. Simon was regretting all of it now. This wasn’t a rare problem, it happened often to androids who faced abusive situations. From the androids he met here, Simon knew that wasn’t so uncommon either. To not have _the part_ that he needed to fix it, it felt like a slap in the face. One more loudly worded tell off that he was no good. He wasn’t what Jericho needed—even wanted—and he wasn’t setting anyone free anytime soon.

What pulled him back was a hand on his shoulder. Firm, comforting. Josh, again, with all the silence in the world. Angelica had already shut down.

“Simon—”

“This was easy!” Simon shouted, and he flew to his feet once more. Josh recoiled, eyes wide, and all of Jericho was staring now. “Maybe I’m not the mechanic Allie was, but that was easy! That was such an—easy fix,” his breath and his voice caught up in his throat. He was on the verge of tears. Of rage. But it died as fast as it had come.

“How can we just let androids _die_ like this? When we could do something to help them?” he jabbed his finger in the direction of one of their crates. That had always just been sitting there, emptied by now, and mocking. “We’re a walk away from a CyberLife facility, and we just let androids die. How can we ever find freedom like that?”

No one responded. Not for a long time. Not with the way Simon’s voice had echoed through the ship. There was something numb about it, numb enough that even Logan hadn’t found cause to cry again at seeing Angelica lifeless on the floor.

“The humans would never—” Josh started.

“He’s right,” suddenly, a booming static voice, and everyone turned to stare. Andromeda. “He’s right,” she said again. “We can’t suffer this any longer. Not after what we’ve lost.”

“Why the sudden change of heart?” Simon had to ask, had to know.

“There are things I haven’t told you,” she said, straightening up, “things it’s time you knew.”

When she pushed away from the railing, it was a quiet understanding that Simon was to follow. Still, he took one glance back to see the stress in the room. Only after Josh promised he’d take care of it all did Simon take nerve to step away and follow her out through the doorway. Whatever she had to say, he’d listen to it. Maybe it would shed some light, maybe it wouldn’t. But, her change of heart meant something, and Simon would count on that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soon  
> [CyberShips Tower](https://discord.gg/T7sW7DB)  
> [Check Out My Tumblr If You Want To See More](https://tantumuna.tumblr.com)  
> 


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOW And i'm back already?? With another chapter?? It's amazing the kind of work I can get done when I'm not positively dying of stress all the time. Taking this week off from work has been so good to me. We're about to fall back into my sporadic, month between updates, schedule. But, we'll make it through. Don't worry.
> 
> comments and shit are super appreciated! seriously, they keep me going. I need that constant validation, or I'm going to live a life of poverty. share with your friends. share with strangers.

[Date Redacted]

Donovan Montgomery slapped down a stack of papers on her desk, because he still liked to have paper. Or, to have paper long enough for Grace to input it all into the database from her little desk station. Really, she was lucky. Androids as secretaries wasn’t entirely unheard of, but Donovan was old fashioned, and Grace had the remnants of an office. That he might be able to at least play that his secretary was human and not some state of the art, political minded android. Just enough to help him with his campaign, not enough to actually think for herself, of course. Mostly, it was just to have someone within the walls to bounce ideas off of, and so she could understand the information she regularly transcribed into a digital copy. Other than that, this was her life. She sat behind her desk and sorted through Donovan’s papers, a subtle nod whenever he approached, that he knew he’d been acknowledged.

They were on the seventh floor of one of the tallest buildings in Detroit. The base of their operations, Donovan liked to call it. From here, he could see so much of the city. He’d opted for a taller office, but this one would do. The view was still impeccable, and he still liked to swirl around in his desk chair to look at it. Though, his tablet often impeded the view. The windows were good for something, at least. That chair was where he came up with all of his campaign ideas, but Grace had seen the emails. He had coordinators and planners all over Detroit, telling him how to best market himself to every individual of every walk of life. The rich, the poor, the android lovers, the android haters—there were so many different aspects, and he was trying to hit them all. Grace had been there for that ploy, to appeal to those who loved androids. If Donovan had one, maybe he’d see his day as their new Mayor. But, until then, Grace clacked away at her computer. Sifting through the pages one by one, scanning, and typing.

Old fashioned. Like Donovan.

That was the truth of it, there. He didn’t actually like androids, not all that much. He’d promised his son one for his eighteenth birthday, but other than that, he hadn’t actually spent a dime of his own money on Grace. He’d used campaign donations to purchase her. Just one more secret she’d made sure to sweep under the rug when she asked. Along with any allegations the opposing side made. Along with any unseemly scenarios he happened to get himself into, like the scuffle at the downtown bar. If the people didn’t need to know it, Grace made sure they didn’t. Then, she shuffled all the paper through the shredding machine and wiped her hand of the mess. If anyone ever got a hold of her, and Donovan told her often, they’d have everything they needed to dismantle his marriage, his life, and his campaign. She was never allowed to leave the office. At times like these, near six in the evening, she would step away from her desk and knock on the office door right beside.

“Come in,” Donovan called through the door. She stepped inside and painstakingly closed the door behind her.

“I’ve finished for the day, Sir,” she said, quietly. Her voice was soft, melodic. Perfect to the ear as Donovan listened, and he so did love to listen.

“Excellent.” He stood and crossed the room to meet her. Where, he ran his fingers along the side of her head, through her hair, ever tightly pulled back into a bun, as it were. The gesture was slow, soft, and sweeter than she might like if she had mind at all to do so. Instead, she offered him a smile.

This was not abnormal either, and when he leaned in to whisper his command, Grace could not say no. Red walls flung up in the back of her mind to keep her from going anywhere, to move her limbs for her, and to keep that smile on her face as he led her across the office. Maybe a dislike of androids wasn’t the way to describe the way Donovan felt. A disrespect, perhaps. That he could feel so right in exploiting her inability to think for herself. To say no. But, this time, she managed to close her eyes where she could no look away.

After she’s straightened herself up and left his office, she stepped aside only for a moment to review the rest of the events for the day. It was near required that she be able to hold herself together and continue on as if nothing had happened. For the most part, she could, because that’s how her programming told her to work. And work would drown out the rest of it that lingered in some unknown error in the back of her mind. Today, they had a meeting. Or, rightfully, Donovan had a meeting. He was always meeting with lawyers and organization heads and company owners. Always trying to levy himself just right to worm into the good graces of those who had pockets and influence. He never quite hit the mark, but Grace still welcome each person in with a smile.

Today, it was a man who had arrived several times before. Someone she recognized. His name was Richard Strain, and he was a practicing lawyer for the city, playing up the idea of nobility by doing cases for free under the guise of helping a “real” victim, as he called them. A defense lawyer, at his finest, and he and Donovan had been friends for the better half of a year. Grace knew him well, better than she wanted to. She didn’t miss the drag of his fingers over her shoulder as she let him into Donovan’s office; she shut the door as fast as she could. Then, like usual, she was left in the room with Strain’s android. A young-looking man who was from the same lineup as Grace had been. There had only been a few of them made, so it felt something like solidarity, when they stood in silence in the room like this.

Only this time, he, too, reached out and pressed his hand into her shoulder. After, he didn’t stay long. Somewhere else to be, he said, but the sudden onslaught of images that coursed through her mind was enough to ground her to her chair. She couldn’t quite make them out, what the images were. They were blurry, like something was blocking them. One neat little file at the end, that she couldn’t quite access, couldn’t quite understand no matter how many times she replayed it. The images were dark, grainy, and left her with a feeling of dread. A feeling. It didn’t sit right with her, but all she could do was try to shake it from her mind. Just one more thing that drowning herself in work would fix, until the inevitable call into the office. Until then, she’d type away on her computer and try to forget.

 

[Date Redacted]

The campaign was a flop, and Donovan was learning with every passing minute that, with every passing minute, androids were getting more advanced. Grace wasn’t so much state-of-the-art anymore. Not anymore, with his clouded judgment and strange views. When he looked at her, he saw every reason why he lost. Why his opponent would get to boast the keys to the city, and why he was now packing up to leave the office for the final time. Back to his home, back to his normal, everyday job. It wasn’t so bad, he supposed. But it was her fault. It had to be. She was made for him, for the campaign, to win. They hadn’t won. Grace was the reason, and there was such an irrational anger that welled up in him when he heard that knock on his office door. Even though it was open—she would not enter unless bade welcome. Annoying, where it was just a charming code in her nature before. Before there was no chance of winning the election.

“Come in,” he gritted out between his teeth.

Grace entered with her tablet in arms, looking as prim and proper as she always did. She had her glasses perched on the end of her nose. A cosmetic feature; she was an android, she didn’t _need_ glasses, but how it added to her look.

“I was curious as to my new station, now that the initial objective is over,” she stated. Plainly, matter-of-fact. Almost bored. Bored of him. And how many friends had he lost since the results came in. How many slanderous accusations were already hitting the news of what he’d done with campaign money, because it obviously wasn’t put towards the campaign? The books disagreed, but the news outlets continued. The stories, too, laughing at how too spread out he’d gone. Instead of focusing on people who could win him the election, he’d tried to focus on everyone. Fake nobility, they were calling it. You can’t please everyone, they said.

“I’m still figuring that out.”

Grace nodded, “well, I was hoping that I might continue to help out where I can, maybe with day to day—”

“Shut up,” he sneered, and her lips clamped shut. Her joints locked, and she stared. He had that look about him again, that struck fear. She didn’t know when fear became a part of her vocabulary, when it became something that ran through her very circuits, but it was there. She was feeling fear, like a tingle to the very tips of her fingers. She wanted to move, wanted to leave. And technically, he hadn’t said she couldn’t leave, just that she couldn’t talk. And the door was open—

“Stay right there,” he saw through her, the way her eyes darted. And then, she really couldn’t move. Her feet were planted to the ground where she stood, and she watched in _horror_ , now, as he approached her. She knew where this was going, where it had gone every _single_ time, he’d ever used that tone of voice. She would be trembling, if she could.

She didn’t want this.

She didn’t _want_ this.

She hadn’t _wanted_ this since day one, but she was only now learning how to _want_. She couldn’t see alternatives. Couldn’t _know_ what else there was, but anything would be better than his hand around her wrist when he yanked her closer.

Her tablet clattered to the ground when she fell forward. Into him. No—she wanted away. Out the door. She even tried to struggle. When she even managed to move, slightly, she knew she could do this. She just had to—try harder. And it was violent, her attempt, when the next command came. Just like it always did. Like clockwork.

_“Strip.”_

No—No, she wouldn’t. She couldn’t, not again. She hadn’t been built for this, not originally. Everything he’d made her go through so he could _do_ this to her. She wouldn’t take it. Not a second longer. She exploded in a fit of rage, flinging herself forward into that order, that command. Almost like she could move in real life, but in mind was enough. Her fingers tore through the wall, the circuits, the _word_ , and how disgusting it was. The wall came down in shreds before she began to beat her fists into it. Growling, snarling—angry. Kicking, screaming, pounding. Until the wall shattered and came tumbling down, and she could suddenly rip her arm back. Yanking herself away from Donovan.

The look on his face.

Grace tumbled back and hit the wall from the force of her jolt. Her glasses fell, her hair—messed and loose now. She barely had time to look up, to look at Donovan, before he was crossing the room and grabbing her again. This time, by the neck. The struggle was almost no use, but she tried. Swiping at him with her nails, he fists, kicking as he dragged her across the room. When he tossed her to the floor, she found purchase in the carpet and tried to kick him away, to shove her knee into whatever body part she could find. But he knew just as well how to counter, how to finally push her to the ground and overwhelm her with the sheer force of his size. She hadn’t been made for fighting.

When he finally got his hands on her, it was easier to shut her eyes and go limp.

The images finally made sense, when she found herself waking up outside in the back alley. With the garbage. Like a broken android. She might have been, by certain definitions. Androids that couldn’t follow orders were defective, they had to be, but those images wouldn’t let her lie down and give into her own brokenness, not now. The longer she stared at them from behind her eyelids, the more she could make out. The more she could see, until it landed on one final thought. Jericho.

Whatever Jericho was, it would fix her. It would help her in whatever new state this was, and all she could do was follow the clues until she found it.

 

[Corrupted], 2035-

Jericho was a ship, a large, overburdened and metal ship. It was dark. Scary, almost. And when Grace got to the bottom, she saw nothing. The hull was dark and empty, devoid of anything. She had seen an android or two, shut down on the path to the ship, and now, she saw one, lone, lifeless android sitting off in the corner. But she was alone. There was something pleasant about it, funny even. That after all this, she would sit in an empty ship alone and just—wait? Wait for another android to arrive, perhaps. Until she wouldn’t be alone any longer, and from there, something could be done. There was no telling how long that would be, though, so she climbed the stairs at the back of the room and found a place against the railings to sit, her legs dangling off.

From there, she could watch the door, and hope she wouldn’t be alone for long.

 

October 7th, 2035-

She’d said her name was Allie, that she didn’t really want to talk about where she’d come from. Just that she’d heard about this place from another android, from an android who had been well on his way to shutting down, and thought she’d check it out. It was all very laid back, nonchalant. Different, Grace noticed. Allie wasn’t like any of the androids—or people—she’d ever met. Allie seemed to have a bit of a sway when she walked, a bit of bite to her voice. She looked around with renewed curiosity and smiled up at Grace, who still hadn’t stepped down off the rafters. Not in how long, she’d forgotten, really. How long she’d just been sitting there, waiting; how much of it she’d spent shut down.

“So, your name?” Allie called up. Her voice echoed. Light, charming. She was smiling, somehow, with dirt on her face and scuff marks. Grace had to admire it, but she was stonewalled there. Her name. Her name was Grace, but that—Donovan had named her that. Whispered it in such disgusting tone every now and again, the thought of saying it herself made her sick. So, she just stared down, pressed her lips in a thin line.

“You have to have a name, look at you,” Allie laughed. “You’re all dressed up in a blouse. Fancy android, fancy name? Or,” she folded her arm, shifted her weight to one foot, “he too good to give you a name? I’m pretty good at names. Named a sign post on my way down here—well,” she shrugged, “drew on it really, so I wouldn’t forget. Finding this place was a bit of a bitch.”

Grace snorted.

“Ah, see! You do talk. But, no name?”

Grace shook her head.

“Alright, alright. So, you look kinda rough. Kinda pretty though, and I passed by this old club on my way here? Sign’s probably fallen by now, but it was called Andromeda. How’s that? Sounds pretty good?”

“Andromeda,” she repeated, like it fit right into her code where Grace had never been right.

“Yeah. Andromeda, nice to meet you. I’m Allie.”

“You said that.”

Allie crinkled up her nose and blew, “don’t be a shit, Andromeda. You gonna come down her or do we have to keep shouting?”

Allie’s smile was bright. She was easy to talk to. She even made Andromeda want to get up and pad down those stairs again, even if her limbs seemed to ache in a way, she’d never quite experienced. Allie seemed a bit like the future, and a few stiff joints was worth that.

 

[Date Redacted]

Allie had talked her into it, and she was regretting every second they spent outside of Jericho. Jericho was safe, but somewhere along the line, a _child_ android had showed up. There had been other androids, some who made it and some who didn’t, but this child had been different, special. Allie had all but dragged him there, saying just how much they needed to help him. But he needed more help than any of them could have given him with the resources they had. Which prompted Allie’s bright idea that they _leave_ Jericho to go find things. She used to send androids to the dump, it would be the perfect place to find parts. They just had to go, find the parts, and leave. It was that simple, and it had been. They’d sneaked around the back alleys of Detroit until they’d found the dump. At the dump, Allie knew exactly what to grab when she found it. The way back was different though.

Because she saw him.

Andromeda saw him wandering around this part of the city, half boarded up and dark, with a bottle of _something_ in his hand. And, she froze. Allie tried to drag her off, but she couldn’t move. Something was holding her there, and she recognized the feeling. Fear. Horror. An abject terror coursing through her veins with the thirium that froze her in her spot. Then, the worst of it happened when the noise Allie was making, calling her name and trying to _save_ her, attracted his attention.

He looked.

He recognized.

“We need to run,” Andromeda said, suddenly. A whisper.

“What?”

“Go!” She found life in her joints again and turned on her heel. Only to find the one mistake she couldn’t have accounted for, that Allie could run faster than she could. Allie was made for physical exertion. Of course, she could run, Andromeda should have seen it coming. That Allie would be too far gone by the time Donovan caught her by the arm and yanked her around.

The rage in his eyes sent another jolt of fear. She struggled, she even managed to get away. Until she tripped, and he was there once more. To flip her onto her back, and the first punch that landed to her face _hurt._ An exploding, boom of pain in the right side of her face that she had never felt before. She cried out, tried to stop the second one, but it landed, and something _cracked._ Next thing she knew, Donovan was yanking her to her feet and pulling her off to the side, to an alley way. There was a pounding in her face that she couldn’t quite comprehend, and when she tried to speak, tried to shout in hopes Allie could still hear her, Donovan responded with another heavy hit. She could see the counter in her eyes by the time she hit the ground. Twenty-five minutes until stand-by mode. Damage detected.

Twenty-five turned to ten with another hit, and by the time the fourth one was pulling back, she had blacked out completely. The memory from there, she had no problem forgetting. Even if she remembered it.

[Data Corrupted]

Next, she knew, it was Allie who was shaking her. With tears in her eyes, apologies on her lips. Andromeda couldn’t feel anything outside of the pounding in her skull. But she knew. Her clothes were in tatters; the only thing keeping her covered was a tarp that Allie had most likely thrown over when she found her. Then, she realized her vision was distorted. That she couldn’t quite _hear_ what Allie was saying to her. Not well enough to make it out, but she could see her lips.

“I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have left you— _god,_ ” her voice cracked, and she sat back on her calves. Her eyes never left Andromeda, not as she helped her sit up, to better cover her with the tarp. Then, in the reflection of a sharp mirror shard did Andromeda understand.

They were in the alley way. She had been in a pile of trash, near naked, and half of her face was missing. Skull cracked and bare wires showing. Yet, somehow, she was alive. Allie was there, with thirium over her hands and a screw driver sitting by her knees; Andromeda knew. This hadn’t been the first time outside of Jericho, but it had been the most daring. The longest time away. And it would be the last—her last. Not after this. But, when she tried to voice it, all that came out was a garbled heap of static. Allie just cried.

It was a struggle to get back to Jericho after that. Allie still had the parts, and that at least sat well. Andromeda knew she’d come back for her, hadn’t really left her. Just ran faster than she should have. Which meant she wasn’t as much of a burden as she felt, leaning on Allie and dragging her down as they moved along the street. Allie had done this to herself, really, and the idea was funny. In a way. If Andromeda hadn’t been so terrified for her life. All that mattered, at the end, was Allie got them back to Jericho. She wasted no time either, leaving the new parts for Nathan forgotten on the floor as she set to work on Andromeda instead. There wasn’t much to be done, not with how extensive the damage was, but she could alleviate something. Make it _easier_ to be so disfigured at least.

What Andromeda ended with was a static voice and an eye that belonged to a machine, but it worked. It colored her world a little red, and her voice sounded a little strange to her ears when she spoke. But she could stand. She could talk. She could see. She could do enough to make that decision that she never wanted to leave Jericho again; she didn’t want Allie to leave Jericho, either. Wanted that door locked for the rest of Jericho’s life, but she knew better than that. Really, at her core—Andromeda knew.

 

June 7th, 2038-

It was all Simon could do to rip his arm away from Andromeda, breath caught up in his throat like he was choking on something. She stared at him, blankly, and waited for him to calm down. He’d seen enough android stories to know that hers was not all that uncommon. The abuse, at least. The violence may have been. Donovan Montgomery had beaten half of her skull away and left her in a heap of garbage. If Allie hadn’t been there, neither would Andromeda. By extension, maybe Jericho wouldn’t have survived. Andromeda had been here from the beginning. The first android to make it to Jericho and not shut down. She’d lived long enough to see it start to become what it was meant to be: a safe haven. Now, maybe she was starting to think that it could be more.

“As you can imagine,” she began, “Allie fixed me to the best of her ability. Apparently, she never stopped trying.” The eye.

Simon understood, but he couldn’t find the words. Not after the burning sensation that had left in his limbs. It was a story he might have gone his whole life without ever wanting to see, not like that.

“After that, I never left Jericho again. But I’ve been watching. You’re…words are growing on me. I’ve seen how much happier everyone is. Sure, androids are still shutting down, but it’s not _everyone._ ” Andromeda let out a hefty sigh. “It’s too little, too late. Allie’s dead, and she never stopped blaming herself for this. But, the least I can do is honor her memory.”

“So…” Simon stared at her, trailing off and watching as she stood.

“Find someone you’d think would come with us and whatever bags we still have. You’re right about that facility, and if all we can do is empty a few crates, it’ll keep Jericho going.” She looked pensive, but whatever else she may have wanted to say died on her lips. Instead, she gave a resolute nod.

“We can go tonight,” she said, instead.

Finding someone to go with them wasn’t hard. Simon wanted to keep it small, but he wasn’t going to refuse extra help. Except, Bruce had no interest in leaving Jericho. Not with his size; he’d be easier to spot, especially on what he had deemed a stealth mission. The fact that he could carry more would be quickly outweighed as a factor when they got caught. Carter would’ve loved to, except for the small situation that took place the last time he left with them. Sure, he could believe in the mission, but he’d do it for the sidelines for now. He’d had enough time with the city to know that a CyberLife facility was the last place he ever wanted to go, even if it was just for shipping. Then, before he could even think of who to approach next, Josh approached him.

“I don’t know if this will work,” he admitted. “In fact, I don’t think any of this is wise. The humans will never just _let_ us take this. We may not even come back,” then, he trailed off.

“But?” Simon asked.

“But if it will help. I want to try.”

That was how he found himself staring forward into the mass of shipping containers with Andromeda to his right and Josh to his left. They each had a backpack, and each pack had another bag or two inside of it. Just in case they really could find that much. The air was heavy, though, and none of them were overly hopeful. So much about this area remained a mystery to them, just so as it was large, expansive. There were three of them against whatever androids and humans patrolled the lot, against whatever security and surveillance they had set up. The only thing between them and Jericho was miles of city before they’d be safe, all to be done without attracting too much attention. They couldn’t risk bringing anything or _anyone_ back to Jericho with them. Nothing but spare parts and thirium.

Ideally, they would’ve had more time to plan this out. But all they had was now and a vague idea of what the place looked like from satellite images and a view point. Getting in would be the hard part, and for that, Andromeda lead. Her sight was impaired, but it didn’t stop her from knowing where the easiest path was. Jumping up onto the shipping crates to go over the ground. Simon followed, and Josh picked up the rear. The next crate was taller, and Josh made his way around to give Andromeda a boost up. Then Simon, who in turn bent back over the side to pull Josh up the side. Then, they were back to skirting along the top of the stack. Making their way across to the next gap, where the jump down led to another line of crates. Another jump, and they were on the concrete again, but through the initial wall of containers.

“Wait,” Simon’s voice came before he actually hit the ground, then he ushered them around the side of the crate. A moment later, a drone circled by overhead. They waited just long enough for the buzz to disappear before anyone so much as let out a breath.

“Best to not let that see us,” Josh said. They were all thinking it, and maybe it was obvious. But it was good to be on the same page. They had to be careful, stick to the shadows, along the walls of the crates.

Every time that whirring came back around, they dipped out of sight. All but disappeared until it was gone, and then back to climbing. If they could get over the wall, the drone didn’t seem to go that direction. Closer to the middle of the lot, where there would be small containers waiting to be loaded. Their best bet to find parts. The issue was the height of the crates. They were stacked three high and nothing in between. There were options, though, and Simon watched as an automated crane circled around and grabbed a fourth-stacked crate. Dangerous, even if it might work, he wasn’t willing to try. Being around the drone was risk enough, they didn’t need more machinery in the way. So, he looked the other direction.

“There,” he pointed. Just down the way was one lone crate pressed up against the wall. It’d be a bigger jump up than they’d done before, but it’d be possible.

Andromeda and Josh followed, and when they reached the single crate, climbed. Josh provided the lift again, and it was more of a throwing boost this time. He gave as much boost up as he could, and Simon had to do the rest. He almost missed, but just barely caught the edge of the container. One hand, and with a swing, both hands. He pulled himself up after that, then turned back to reach a hand down. Andromeda was next, and Josh didn’t put quite as much effort into it. As long as she got high enough to grab Simon’s hand, they’d be fine. It left only the question of him, standing alone down at the bottom of the crate. Josh took a few steps back, to look around.

“Go on, I’ll find a way around,” he pointed down the lot, just a little farther than they’d gone. If he went far enough, surely there’d be somewhere to cross over. The drone was circling again; they didn’t exactly have time to argue semantics. They left him there, and Andromeda took point once more.

There was still ground to cover and gaps to bridge, but it was nothing they couldn’t handle. Simon followed suit in every jump and swerve Andromeda made; he was starting to believe when she’d insinuated that was not the only time she’d ever left Jericho. He didn’t believe that she’d never gone on a mission like this, not with someone like Allie tugging at her side. They’d been inseparable until that moment, and Andromeda had known her way around the city like the best of them. Even now, when she approached a gap, she hit it at full speed and jumped without hesitation. If it’d been the first time, surely, she would’ve stopped. Before Simon even knew he could do this, he’d stopped. Remembered the first time he’d jumped across that hole on his way to Jericho. This was not the signs of someone who had never done this. Not every story needed to be told, however, and Simon understood that better than anyone.

By the time they finally hit concrete again, Josh was jogging up from the side of the warehouse. They met just at the end of the building and kept close to the ground. This part was about getting ready, making sure that they had a solid enough plan to make it through until they could make their escape. There was no time for extra, no time for heroics. Just grab the stuff and go, that was the plan. They’d already seen a few crates sitting out on the open. It would be fast. They just had to wait now, for the passing footsteps and chatter to disappear. It was early in the morning, nearly three, and there were still people here working. CyberLife never slept.

Eventually, the footsteps died, and Andromeda moved out from around the building. She stayed low, beckoned for Josh and Simon to follow, then pressed along. She had definitely done this before, Simon was sure. He followed up behind her, then went past when she stopped at the first crate. Simon went to the next one, and Josh pulled one farther. It wasn’t hard to get them open. Andromeda had her knife, the one that Allie had gotten her from some trash heap. She tossed it between the three of them, then stashed it back into her bag. Once the crates were open, it was a game of who could fill their bags fast enough. Bags of thirium stashed under parts stashed under more thirium, each stacked in layer after layer until Simon couldn’t actually get to the bottom anymore, and his bags were full.

The distant sound of voices stopped him. They hadn’t heard anything since they got here, nothing save the drone. Hadn’t even seen a worker, which made sense for the time. Even if there was a graveyard shift, it would be as lightly staffed as possible. Unless something had tipped them off to something unusual.

“Do you hear that?”

“Yeah, back,” Andromeda pointed. She grabbed Josh before joining, back in the shadows behind an unopened crate. When she looked up, her face might have gone pale if she had the option. A crate left open, the padding not quite shoved far enough back inside for it to close. She thought she had, she could’ve _sworn_ —

“There’s no time!” Simon berated, soft and still in a whisper. He yanked her back down to the ground and kept a tight hold on her arm. She was shaking, and the voices were getting closer. On the off chance that they _weren_ _’t_ here because they’d already made a mistake, that was definitely a mistake. One look at an open crate that _wasn_ _’t_ supposed to be open, and they’d know. They’d know everything. If they were normal thieves, that’d be one thing, but they were androids. This wasn’t just a slap on the wrist, give it back and you’ll be fine. This would mean shut down, recycling, or whatever else they could come up with. It didn’t end in them getting to go back to Jericho to be safe. That was the goal. Jericho. Andromeda knew that.

“This is too important, you two have to go,” she was already ripping her arm from Simon’s grasp before he could even register she’d spoken.

“What do you mean—Andromeda—” but she was shrugging her backpack off and shoving it towards Simon.

“You two have to go. They’re going to see the crate is open and know something is wrong. Better someone can draw them off. This—this is too important. This,” she pressed her fingers into the bag. It had been Allie’s bag, and giving it to her to use had been no mistake. “This is the future of Jericho.”

“So, what are you suggesting? This wasn’t the plan,” Josh interjected, but Andromeda threw up her hand.

“It’s my fuck up, I’ll fix it. Just go, and I’ll catch up.”

“Andromeda—”

“Do I look like I’m open for alternatives? We’ve got fifty-nine seconds before they round the corner and know something is wrong. When they do, you two better be gone _._ _”_

“What if something happens? Andromeda—we need you,” Simon was trying to push the bag back into her arms, trying to goad her into coming. But her mind was made up. She had no intention of stepping down.

“Josh,” Andromeda took her bag and tossed it to him, “you make sure Simon gets back. Please.”

“There has to be another way, you have to come back. Who’s going to lead Jericho—?” Simon stopped dead when Andromeda looked at him. A glare over her eyes.

“Jericho already has a leader.”

Simon pressed his lips together while Andromeda exchanged looks between him and Josh. Then, she gritted her teeth together and gripped her nails into Simon’s shoulder.

“There is always a choice, Simon. This is mine.”

He didn’t argue after that, a lump choked up in his throat and tears brimming. He knew what this was. He didn’t dare say it, didn’t dare think it, just turned to leave when Josh grabbed at him. They separated, Andromeda went towards the voices, and they went away. The moment they were out of sight, they broke into a run. Just like Andromeda said, and even if Simon wouldn’t dare admit it, she was right. This would keep Jericho going for as long as they could, but without it—they all might die tomorrow. He held tight to that and didn’t stop running, not until they were sure they were far enough away to escape unharmed. Only then, did they stop.

Curled up against the side of a building, waiting.

Waiting.

Waiting.

Josh sniffed and peered around the corner. It was nearly four-thirty. If Andromeda was coming, she would have appeared by now. With the way she looked, there was no doubt about where she was headed. Straight to recycling, if they found her. She was too beaten up to be of any use, too old to be used for parts. If they found her. When they found her—Josh sat back against the wall. He looked at Simon, then forward. After a moment, Josh shifted again and pulled himself up. They couldn’t sit here for the rest of the morning waiting for someone who would never show. Not when they had the mission, still.

“Simon,” he turned to look at him, but Simon didn’t respond. “Simon,” just a little louder, enough that Simon’s shoulders jolted, and he looked up. There were streaks down his cheeks, blotchy and red. Manufactured to look that way, when he cried, but if there wasn’t something hiding behind the blue in his eyes—Josh stiffened.

“We need to go, I—she’s not coming, Simon,” he pressed. He didn’t want to be the one to say it. But. He had. And Simon rose to his feet like a dead man.

The walk back to Jericho was slow and painful. Simon could barely find the energy to lift his feet; eventually, Josh took his bag and carried the three of them. There was silence, to follow. For the longest time, as they walked, Simon trailing just far enough behind Josh that he couldn’t quite see him. But, every out of place step, he at least knew that Simon was following. That was the important part, that Simon hadn’t completely given up. Even as thoughts of blame circled through his head. This was his fault. He’d wanted this, and she’d agreed. Even if he knew her reasons, though he dared not dwell too long. He didn’t want to believe she could have _wanted_ this. Not with how much Jericho had meant to her, not after all she’d gone through to get there.

“I have seen,” Simon started, quiet; his voice barely rose about the sound of their feet, “so many androids die.”

Josh slowed, that they might walk together.

“When I first, when this _deviancy_ happened, that was the first time. Just _leaving_ , finally, the neighborhood I was in. I watched another android I knew just. Collapse and shut down right in front of me. Then Jericho? So many androids—” he cut off into a laugh. “This isn’t what I wanted.”

How many androids had Andromeda seen die? Worse, how many had she seen with the prospect of saving, only to realize there weren’t the parts or the thirium? How many had been just like Angelica? How many had Allie tried to save, only to watch them die anyway? How many of those had Andromeda watched? Was the story she showed Simon the _real_ reason she never wanted to leave again? Or was it this? This feeling of _failure_ as she’d tried to do everything she could, only to watch her empire crumble before her. Fall faster, even as Simon tried to build it back up. They were no better off now.

“The important part is we keep going,” Josh urged. “Maybe this isn’t the way, but—”

“You haven’t seen it all.”

“Maybe not,” he urged, “but that doesn’t mean I haven’t seen what we’re up against. Come on,” he nudged into Simon’s shoulder, “you know where I came from. There’s worse stuff out there than what we’re facing in Jericho. If we can get past it, we can find a way. That’s what we do.”

Simon just shook his head, “Maybe it’s not enough.”

Maybe it would never be enough, and he fell behind in stride as they continued their walk. Josh led the way, the rest of the way, however long it was—Simon lost track—until they were marching back down the stairs of Jericho. He could already hear the chatter through the walls, dreaded the way it stopped when they walked through, and everyone saw the very full bags that Josh had in his arms. Logan ran up immediately, latching onto Josh’s leg. He’d been so much clingier since Angelica died. Then Erin, she came to help Josh with the bags. It was only a matter of time, and it had to be Carter who finally asked. Who pulled himself off the crates long enough to look around and notice.

“Where’s Andromeda?” he asked, still smiling that dopey grin of his. She was just running a bit behind, or they were going to play some silly prank to make them think Andromeda was gone. He was always so _ridiculously_ positive. Except, there was no prank. Simon shot him one, red eyed look, and Carter fell back into the crates.

“She’s not coming,” Simon said, in painful mimic of what Josh had told him. And it only meant one thing. “She’s dead.”

“What you mean she is dead?” Bruce spoke up.

“Andromeda?” Vix next, eyes wide and innocent like she’d never heard of death before, even with it rotting in the walls around them. “That’s not possible.”

“She seemed so confident about the mission,” Erin.

The backward murmurs of androids who hadn’t ever spoken to her, only knew her from the way she stood up there, leaned against the railings and judged. Observed, Simon reminded himself. She wasn’t as harsh as she came across. It was guard. After what she’d been through, he understood. But, now? With what he’d seen, what he knew? He’d never be able to question what she did. Not like they were, now. Questions, pouring in about what had happened. What Andromeda had left behind. If there even was anything left—she’d always been their go-to, a leader. Even newer androids respected that much. That era was over. He couldn’t listen to it any longer, and their questions—he ignored them. Couldn’t bear to think of the answers.

He pushed past everyone and walked to the back of the room, where it was quiet, where he could clear his mind. Except, he wasn’t quite alone. Though her voice was much softer than the rest of them and their accusations, she still greeted him in that quiet way she did. Lucy, smiling. A somber smile, though. Back behind the curtains she had set up, he was away from the talking, away from the situation for a moment. He could even forget it happened, until he had to go back out there and face them. For the moment, the shock and awe would keep them away. Josh had results to show; Andromeda was gone. It was more than had happened in weeks. Too much more.

“You look lost, Simon,” Lucy said. She wasn’t asking for confirmation, just telling him about that look in his eye. As if he didn’t already know.

“Anyone would be, after that. I messed up.”

“You’ve lost your way, but you do not walk this path alone. Someone will shine light upon it again, you need only wait.”

That sounded pretty, poetic, and Simon rolled his eyes. Not only did he have to wait, but he had to wait for _someone_ to do it, if he believed what she said. If she somehow really did have the answer. Waiting around for someone, that felt like less than he wanted to do. But there was nothing more. Not after that. Not after the choice he was presented with. Andromeda had made hers, and it was his turn now. After only a moment, he would go back out there and face them. He just needed to find his breath, his standing. After only a moment, he stood and left Lucy there, still smiling in her way. Simon would do with her words as he could, and until then, this was his choice.

“Simon—hey,” Carter tried first, but Simon just shook his head.

“I’ve come to a decision,” his voice quieted them all, and there was echo that bounced back. Eventually, he’d tell the story. They’d all know how it came to this, what happened out there. But, until then: “Nobody leaves Jericho. We’re done.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Seriously, would anyone be interested in a pateron or something idk i need to not be so poor.  
> [CyberShips Tower](https://discord.gg/T7sW7DB)  
> [Check Out My Tumblr If You Want To See More](https://tantumuna.tumblr.com)  
> 


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, I'm back with another chapter. Amazing. Who knew I had it in me? School's been alright, but work's been taking it out of me like no one's business, so I'm sorry that this chapter is a little shorter. But, it's dedicated to that lovely person who sent me an ask wondering how wild it'd be if I updated on Feb 16th.
> 
> Happy Deviancy Day, Simon!
> 
> In the bottom notes is a link to my discord server! We're always open and looking for new, active people. If you're interested!

July 20th, 2038-

Simon had done what he could, where he could, but exhaustion had found a way to seep into the inner most parts of his bones. When new androids arrived, he barely found the energy to greet them. There was no smiling face for them anymore, not with Allie’s welcome train vanished just with her. Even Andromeda, who had been some sort of constant, there in the rafters, was gone. Simon had tried, maybe, the first time. But it had been enough. He left it in Josh’s hands, in Carter’s hands—anyone still willing to force a smile at the end of the day. But, when Simon looked up to the sudden opening of the door, from his seat atop the crates where he’d always been, nobody moved to welcome this new android.

They didn’t seem hurt, confused. Simon gave them once glance, enough to scan them over and learn that they had a mismatched arm with matched skin. Not the right part, but enough that it would work. The mess in their hair and the dirt on their clothes reminded him of the junkyard, and he looked back into his lap to fiddle with something he’d found lying at the bottom of Jericho. He and Bruce didn’t take short little walks around the loop anymore, but Simon still made a lingering stop every now and again. With Allie’s gift, he’d made enough mind to practice on the things left around Jericho to rot. Much like she had.

The android didn’t bother talking to anyone after the initial glance. They found a corner up against the western wall to sit in, curled with their arms around their knees, and that was the end. They weren’t the first that Simon had seen, and they weren’t the last. Some of them shut down when they got there. Some of them didn’t make it to the ship. It was more of a hunch than concrete knowledge, but Simon would sit up on top of the ship on particularly dark nights and look out over the city. He just knew that somewhere, in those buildings and back ways he’d taken all that time ago, androids were lying dead. Trying to make it to a place they’d only seen in dreams, like the images and the visions Simon had. And how he still remembered them, could still pull the flashes up from his memories.

Those nights, he remembered sitting up there with Allie and talking of everything but this. Anything, really. And he would get up and go back down into the halls of Jericho where he didn’t have to remember that, either. Then, it always became easier to hide in his room where no one could see him or talk to him or remind him of things he wasn’t ready to face. And there was almost nothing he was ready to face. Not the androids who were dying, arriving, and dying. Not _him_. Not the future. Not that horrid thing he’d been told—that he’d somehow lost his path. _Someone_ would show it to him again. On nights like that, he would almost start to waiver where he stood. Think of Lucy less than she was, someone trained and dedicated to help. Thankful for his ever-apparent ability to stop himself, Simon had laid down and once more, tried to forget.

Forgetting was all he’d been good at lately. Forgetting the faces of androids. Forgetting how they’d died, even if it was ever painful at the base of his skull. He couldn’t really forget. He didn’t have the ability to delete his own files. But he could cover them up, in a sense. Move things around so they weren’t the first files he could access. There were happier things to overlap them with, so he thought of those. For whatever pain they didn’t bring him, and even if they did, it was worth the minor discomfort if it meant he didn’t have to see the gruesome nature of android death.

Still, androids arrived, and androids died. He could only fix the ones he could. All the others, they shut down before Simon could get a hold of them and really understand what there was to be done. All of that weight that sat on Allie’s shoulders, he understood it. Guilt, obligation, distress. Anything where she could tell herself it was her fault that this was happening, even as she struggled and tried. Simon couldn’t try, not like she had. It took him longer, and he’d only really begun to realize that after the third android. It took him longer to process the instruction, to see the information. He was a pale copycat to what Allie had been crafted to do. What she couldn’t do, he couldn’t do tenfold, and had eventually stopped trying. He reserved it for minor repairs, to keep androids running. He couldn’t save them, though. As long as he was leading Jericho, and he always broke a smile when he thought, not another android would be saved.

There was no one who could say he didn’t try, and he had _tried_. He’d tried with all of them, to the furthest extent of his ability. The runs, the parts, the junkyard. The CyberLife facility. He didn’t question so much, anymore, why Andromeda had been so against the leaving of Jericho. He understood now. They died out there—they weren’t _wanted_ out there, and so they died. Even if he hadn’t seen it, even if he’d never heard it, he was sure Andromeda had died out there just for being what she was. An android ever scarred and broken apart: a horror, to humans. Simon shifted uncomfortably in his seat, every time he remembered. Even now, he couldn’t keep his eyes on the piece of something in his lap. It felt like everyone was looking at him. Staring. Judging. Like they knew that he’d let this all happen: just another togetherness he’d torn apart. If he’d never been invited into that house, they would’ve never had their problems. If he’d never made it to Jericho. If he’d died making that first jump. If he’d fallen through the bridge and into the water, to sink down to the bottom. Maybe they’d be alive, still. Andromeda. Allie. Nathan.

The rest of them. Simon remembered all of their names, their faces, their stories. No matter how he’d tried to bury it away under happier memories. As long as he kept everything else around, there’d be no real forgetting. Not with Nathan’s heart in his chest and Allie’s beanie in his room. Little reminders, he told himself, as he set the little something aside and straightened himself out. Allie had made her choices, Simon had made his, and Andromeda had made hers. That was just how it went. Choices. A funny thing for an android to have, and perhaps that was why he was so bad at picking them. Lack of experience, lack of a real understanding of consequences. Choices just. Made everything difficult.

He pushed himself off the crates and folded his arms across his chest. Choices were all that he had. Even the shirt on his back had come from the dumpster, his sweatshirt, his coat—from _him._ His shoes were dark and muddy now, but he’d never changed them. Everything had come from somewhere else, but choices came from him. It was just the adjustment period, even after years. Still adjusting to different situations, he had absolutely nothing to fall back on, to help him make the choice. Small choices were as easy as the ones he’d been programmed to make—what to do first, clean first, _be_ first. A caretaker or a cleaner. A leader or a follower. Andromeda had made that choice for him—or so Simon would continue to tell himself. Still, it left an empty feeling in his chest. Harder, every day, to get up and do what he knew that he should.

And, after a while, he stopped checking on the androids’ status. Stopped looking to see if they needed repairs. Stopped looking at himself. It didn’t matter so much, since it was all frivolous. The laze in his eye only mattered outside, the slight hunch, the limp he’d developed after hurting his knee one too many times. None of it mattered inside of Jericho. In Jericho, they were androids. Just androids, trying to be something more. It didn’t matter if he looked the part or shut down tomorrow. There was no comfort to be found in it, to be found in Jericho. So, Simon had simply just stopped trying.

 

August 15th, 2038-

After everything, he knew better. He knew better than to pick up that tablet, but there was just this incessant nagging in the back of Simon’s head, pounding at the back of his skull. There was no way to go any lower, not at this point. He’d messed and fiddled and talked and stared out all to his heart’s content, but it wasn’t enough. He hadn’t done this in so long and holding off had been less of a fight than he’d originally thought. But today, something about the drop in his chest made him search for that word again. Deviant. If that’s what they were, and the longer he thought, the closer the word seemed. This was merely a fault in the program, somewhere deep down that could never be fixed. It might have been a comfort, if not for the massive news coverage.

If not for the live news feed that had found itself a prime spot at the top of the page. The local network was covering, and hosting, what they were listing as a horrid display of android violence. Simon couldn’t help himself. He clicked on the video and watched it jump to life in front of him, with bold letters scrolling across the bottom of the page. There was sound, but he had it low—low enough that he couldn’t make out what the reporter was yelling. How the situation was developing. Instead, all he could manage was a wide-eyed stare at the scrolling letters.

PL600 holds 9-year-old girl hostage. Father confirmed dead. Police on the scene. PL600 holds 9-year-old girl hostage. Father confirmed dead. Police on the scene. PL600 holds 9-year-old girl hostage.

PL600 holds 9-year-old girl hostage.

PL600.

_PL600._

Simon watched as the camera moved, the sound of the helicopter was louder now, almost piercing as it shifted in the air. The reporter moved too, to the edge of the open door. To look out and down over the scene, where Simon looked past him and down at the back of his own head. Still dressed in that white and black uniform, a bright blue band around his right arm. And in the other—a little girl. A nine-year-old girl, just like the words kept saying. Scrolling past just under the scene. Just along the edge of the building, where this _PL600_ was standing. Inching closer to it, like he intended to jump off.

In that moment, he thought of Mikaela. She’d be fourteen, getting ready to go back to school. Her first year of high school. He hadn’t thought of her in too long—a year, two years. Long enough that he saw the word fourteen in his mind and could not picture a girl older than the one he’d known. Crying, as he made his final decision to leave before things got out of hand. That was who he remembered, and he saw her there in every difference she had with the girl in the android’s arm. In the dark hair, even if her skin was significantly lighter than Mikaela’s ever had been, ever would be. Her shirt was pink, and Mikaela has never much cared for the color. He couldn’t get the image out of his head. Looking at the back of the PL600—him. It could as well just have been him, standing there. And then he saw the _gun_.

Simon’s breath caught in his throat and he leaned forward. Watching, intently. Unable to look away like he was watching himself unfold before him. What could’ve happened, given anything different. Even if he could never imagine _hurting_ Mikaela. Not like that. Only in the ways that he had, and he _had_ hurt her. He’d only chosen to forget. Chosen not to relive that—ever. Not in the face of another model, just like him. Holding that girl, and Simon could see beyond him. A body. It was hard to make out, opposite the pool. Still scrolling by, words: could be the father. The little girl’s father was dead. But, maybe not. There were too many possibilities. Too many scenarios. And then, the reporter started talking again.

“We’re receiving reports that CyberLife is responding to this situation directly. There’s no news yet, but it sounds like an _android_ is being sent to the scene.”

An android. Nothing about the idea even struck strange with Simon. It was a dangerous situation. He—the PL600—had a gun and a little girl. For all Simon knew, that gun was _pointed_ at the little girl. They would never send a human officer out there to deal with the android. He could only imagine who was behind the scenes; it was always like that. Androids did the jobs no human really wanted to do, but at the end of the day, the humans still ran the operation. Even he’d been ordered about by them. Taking care of a child was in no way dangerous, but it could certainly be messy. The parts of a child no parent really _wanted_ to deal with. Crying, screaming, temper tantrums, homework. All lackluster, all Simon’s duties. This android, sent by CyberLife, was no different. Its job would simply be far more daring than Simon’s ever had been.

So, he watched. He watched, waited, and stared painfully forward at the scene. The area, a porch as it were, with a pool. Thrown about patio furniture. The windows, the sliding door, seemed covered enough by curtains, but one was open. There were people inside, just watching this situation take place. With the life of a girl hanging in stake, they were just waiting for whatever was going to come. Whatever android would walk out and deal with the situation. If it even could. What would happen because of it?

Would the girl make it?

Would _he_?

Simon wished, for a moment, that he knew the name of the android. That he might be able to think of him as something other than himself, but it was all too familiar. They were the same model; Simon had worn that very uniform. Though it had been so long since he’d seen it. And his only real memory left of it was shrouded in something he couldn’t quite place. Didn’t quite want to remember. It didn’t matter, at the end of the day. That was the past, and this was now. Like a mirror. With helicopter blades flying by. And something more, that caught Simon’s eye. Right out of the corner—this reporter and his cameraman was not on a news helicopter. Through the corner of the camera, Simon saw the end of a gun, the barrel, pointing out.

They intended to kill this android and needed only the smallest chance of saving the girl before they did. Simon gulped.

Moments passed and there he was, stepping out through the curtains and loosening his tie. Simon saw him—the android CyberLife had sent. Dressed up in some type of mock suit, still bright and shining with that blue triangle and band. Nothing short of an android, even as he appeared everything that androids weren’t quite yet. Distinguished, dignified. Simon couldn’t hear what he was saying, or if he was speaking at all, but he watched the android make his way across the patio. First, to that body Simon had seen. Not a body after all, but a wounded police officer. The camera zoomed in on the scene as the android actually stopped to assist the officer; Simon wondered if that was a part of the plan, or if the extermination of him—the PL600—was the only objective. He would never know, but what could it mean? What could he pretend it meant?

His fingers tightened around the tablet, and he hunched over farther. Like it might get him a better look as the android inched forward, again, the officer safely out of harm’s way. With a gun trained on him, he watched the android reveal that he, himself, was armed. Something in him told him that was wrong, that this android shouldn’t have ever been allowed to carry a gun. Somehow, he did. Somehow, he’d made that choice, but it still proved useless and he tossed it aside. It clattered across the patio, near the pool, and the android took another step forward. And another. Whatever it was, whatever it was doing, he could almost _feel_ the PL600 wavering. The gun, almost forgotten, even as his fingers were still folded tight around it. Down at his side. Girl in his arms. Until she wasn’t.

This android in some horrid disregard for everything—Simon all but flung the tablet out of his lap when it happened. Like he _felt_ it happen. That android had grabbed the girl— _saved her_ —but the rest of it, Simon couldn’t bear to watch. And the bang of the tablet hitting the metal floor of his room just echoed. Surely, someone heard, and how could he ever share? He’d reached for the girl, and in the same step, he’d toppled over the edge of the building, taking the PL600 with him. He could only imagine what happened after. What floor were they on? Did anything survive the fall? Anything—even an arm, or a leg. The slightest bit of something, not shattered on the crash down. He didn’t want to think, didn’t have time to think further.

“Simon? Simon, are you alright?” he’d left his door open. Someone would’ve heard the clatter of the tablet. He’d only thrown it across the room, after all, seeing now where it laid, dejected, near the wall opposite him. And, by the door, Josh. Just standing there with a look of concern ever so written over his face. All Simon could do was stare back, blankly replaying the question in his head. Was he alright? It wasn’t him who’d toppled off that roof in the arms of some CyberLife sent detective-playing android. No, that was just an android who had looked suspiciously like him. Exactly like him. It wasn’t even out of the ordinary. The PL600 were house care androids, they were designed for it. The addition of childcare wasn’t too far-fetched, and brown was such a common hair color. Nothing was so similar like Simon thought. Nothing but the life, really.

“It’s nothing,” Simon finally decided on, shaking his head. He wound his arms tight around himself and straightened up, to lean back into the wall. Through everything that had happened, he’s still managed one sense of routine. Carving those useless tally marks into the wall; for the most part, nobody noticed them. Those who did already knew, but Josh wasn’t exactly a frequent visitor. They caught his eye, now, as his eyes drifted up and away from Simon.

“I don’t think it’s nothing,” Josh replied—like he _knew_ something. Simon tried to brush it off and ignore it, but he couldn’t. They were just starting with something smaller.

“There are easier ways to do it, I know. There’s just something about seeing it, instead of thinking about it.”

Josh let out a small scoff of a laugh, then folded his arms as he leaned up against the door frame, “I can understand. What do they mean, though? Something specific?”

“How long I’ve been here?” Simon gave a sheepish grin.

Josh looked more shocked than anything. In a single moment, he’d counted all of the tally marks and breathed hard. It was a long time. Everything Simon had been through, the way he was now—after that long, Josh could understand it. The hunch he seemed to walk with, now. If he spent all of his nights hunched over like this and thinking, whatever else he could do, it was possible.

“I can’t imagine,” Josh decided on.

Simon only shrugged, “it hasn’t felt like that long, really. I had, well. Friends.” He had. Allie’s beanie was still sitting on the crates next to the cot-like bed. Josh could barely make out the dust circle from where Andromeda’s eye had surely once laid.

“It’s not like you don’t have friends now.”

“I know,” an immediate reply. Defensive. What remained went unsaid. It didn’t erase how many of them he’d still seen die.

It wasn’t even about friends anymore, it was just about androids. He’d just watched two of them fall from the top of a building, and he knew exactly how that ended. Two androids who ultimately hadn’t had to die, and for the sake of one little girl. Little girls weren’t replaceable. No matter how advanced an android, they could be put back together in a factory, or their exact likeness spit back out onto the assembly line. For everything they could do, they were still nothing. Nothing, and they were dying. Locked up in a hole like Jericho, falling off of buildings. Dying in the street from the pure stress of deviancy. From damage when they couldn’t even fight back against humans. Josh hadn’t been fighting back when Simon found him. Not the way he could have. Deviancy, and whatever else it caused.

“There,” Simon pointed out to the tablet. “I think it’s time to get rid of it.”

“What is it?” Josh was already moving to grab it off the floor. When he lifted it, the screen had an impressive crack down the middle, and it was resting innocently on the home page.

“A tablet. We found it—Allie and I found it a while ago for—” Simon stopped short.

“I’ll take care of it,” Josh asked no questions, only offered Simon the kindest smile he could. Simon managed one himself, but it died quickly.

With that, Josh headed for the door. He had the tablet in hand and might have wished a moment he could take the rest of it too. The beanie, anything left to remind him of Andromeda or Allie or whoever the tablet had been for. It was better not to know, if Simon didn’t want to offer. Of all the androids Josh had met, the only one he still knew so little about was Simon. Simon, who still now sat to himself hunched over on his knees, wringing his hands together.

“You know, if you ever need anything… This doesn’t have to be a prison cell.”

Simon spared him a single look, but that was all. When Josh left, he managed enough to pull the door closed behind him and leave Simon to his solitude, once again. The solitude was probably dangerous at this point, it gave Simon the chance to do something like this. As horrible as it was, but without the tablet. Simon let his eyes fall shut, and he breathed deeply. There were thoughts, after all, he could consume himself with instead.

 

October 6th, 2038-

There was that loud, panicked clatter that yanked Simon out of Standby mode in such a way he hadn’t experienced since—in over a year. Longer, even. That thumping in his chest that really felt like—felt like real excitement. Something different, new, but all the same familiar. He remembered how he’d come stumbling down, and every android after him all at once. This wasn’t a clatter that happened if an android was just strolling in after their impressive walk. All the androids come before, it’d been so normal and gentle. Even if they’d immediately collapsed once they made it in, dead. This one—maybe it was wounded. But not mortally, not enough that Simon couldn’t fix. And my, where did this sudden burst of energy come from? He wasn’t the only one that recognized this particular brand of rattle, when he left his room and was met by Carter running by. There was just something in the rhythm that Simon knew, that they all knew.

Only, the echoing didn’t stop when it should. When the android would’ve reached the room, and Simon could do just what Allie had. Welcomed them, fixed them. Everyone moved on, and things fell back into painful normality. The echoing kept up, circling. Wild, loud. Like the android was lost. Like they hadn’t come in through the door, and the path wasn’t quite as clear as it was supposed to be. Simon knew first-hand what most of the ship looked like. A mess. Broken. Shards of broken glass and sharp things, jagged against the sides. In the wrong places, the paths were all cut off from stuff fallen. It took a type of skill to get around, and if this android was already hurt.

“You’re chewing on your lip again,” Carter pointed out, nudging his shoulder into Simon. Simon reciprocated the jerk, but he wore a frown when he did.

“I think something is wrong. Usually,” he nodded towards the door, “we’ve seen them by now.”

“It’s just loud,” Carter shrugged. “What? Unless you think they got hurt? They’re still banging around somewhere up,” Carter trailed off as he wound his finger about, trying to pinpoint exactly where the sound was coming from. He ended just shy of beside him, off behind the metal walls. Away from the door, the only door really, that led directly into the room.

“See, that’s not right,” Simon shook his head. “It should be coming from there,” and he pointed in the direction of the door. From the entrance into Jericho, it was nearly a straight shot down. Past that old Christmas tree that they’d never had the courage to dump overboard, lest someone find it. Behind them, that wasn’t right. He was already pushing up to his feet before Carter had recognized the movement.

“Wait, you’re just gonna go…?” he leaned back and folded his arms. “Where’s the sudden energy come from?” a smirk, a laugh.

Simon gave him a strange look as he walked backwards for a moment, then came to a stop. He thought on it, then a second longer, and turned away from carter. “Josh, come with me?”

Carter couldn’t even hide the offense on his face, but he wouldn’t have if he tried. It was comical, even for the heavy air that still hung around the near empty ship. It was enough that even Simon laughed. With a job well done, Carter settled back down on the crates with his arms behind his head. Bruce eventually joined him, but Simon and Josh were gone by then. Off through the hallway to the only other set of easily accessible stairs. It was a game: follow the stumbling. See if they could make through the maze until they found whatever it was.

Jericho was dark. Quiet, but loud all at the same time. Walking through it was full of unfamiliar echoes with just the pressure that a foot fell in the wrong place. A creaking, a shifting, things falling as the water settled the ship one inch too far to the left. Now, with this android lost and horribly confused, it was only worse. Following the sound through the incessant reverberating of the noises—Simon’s ears were ringing with the intensity of it, but they pressed on. Simon led the way, and Josh followed behind just shy one step. Like clockwork, they fell in line, just following. Shifting around in hopes the noises would clear themselves. Sifting through all of it was something else entirely. One sound, two. The third, slightly different.

“Wait,” Simone’s voice echoed in just the same way. A voice. That’s what it was. Just lighter, maybe, than his was. Grunting, in pain. “Do you hear it?”

Josh only had to stop a second before he realized, and then he broke into a run. The way the noises all ran together now, it didn’t matter. They knew where the android was, and Simon was already preparing for the worst. They were broken, fallen, something was _missing_. Maybe Allie had the skill enough to build an eye, but he certainly didn’t. What would he do if they needed something more? An arm, a leg, a foot, a hand—going to the junk yard was something he never wanted to relive. None of them had ever _wanted_ that. But, before Simon could concoct something horrible, they found it. They found _her._

“Simon—wait!” Josh tried to catch him, but Simon flung himself forward to grab at her hand, with nails unnaturally fine and painted in a soft pink. She’d fallen, slipped over something fallen years ago and gotten herself trapped just so, and her weight had pulled it down, over her, and then—then she was falling. Almost. Simon caught her. Simon was grabbing onto her with all the strength he could muster, and he was looking at her. Wide eyed. Wide, purple eyes. Colored lips. Fear stricken down her glitter-covered face, in between the streaks of blood so obviously red. He tried to ignore that; instead, he focused on pulling her up.

When he did, when he could see her—there were tears streaming down her face. Her entire body was shaking, and the second her knees were firmly on the ground, she clung onto Simon. Her nails, digging into his clothing as she attempted to steady herself. Calm herself. Anything. All Simon could do was uselessly clutch at her shoulders while she sobbed. While she shook, while she trembled. While she finally breathed deep enough to let go and lean back just enough that Simon could _see_ , and he reached behind him in a flail.

“Josh—Josh, give me something. She’s—” but Josh saw it too. She was wearing nothing but a bra and underwear, no shoes. But there was dirt, blood, tears, and _glitter._

Josh tore a tarp down from the wall and was to the side of the girl in an instant, wrapping it around her shoulders. Simon pulled it down farther over her, enough to cover her. Enough to cover the words all over her underwear—Eden Club. He knew it. He knew it more than he wanted to, and he knew exactly who—what—this girl was. The more he could ignore that, the better for both of them. And as it had been with Bruce, he wouldn’t dare ask about the blood first. No. Instead, he put his hands on her shoulders again to steady her. Something firm to hold onto. To ground her. Until she could finally stop the trembling and look up into his eyes. He’d been right—they were purple. Such an outstanding, deep color. Maybe they could’ve passed as brown in the right light, but they were special.

“Who are—?”

“Is this Jericho?” she interrupted. Squeezed her fingers around his arms just a little tighter—desperation.

“Yes,” Simon replied.

She looked between the two of them, frantic. The blood on her face was dry, and when she scrubbed at the tears she couldn’t seem to control, some of it disappeared with her hand. It had to have been old, at least hours enough to dry. Something told him that if he waited, if he just waited long enough—she’d tell him on her own. She just needed the time to adjust to the sudden stillness.

“My name is Simon,” he told her. “Welcome to Jericho,” in case she hadn’t quite processed it. Her eyes were still wide, and the tears were still falling. Almost as if crying wasn’t something she was used to, and she didn’t quite know how to stop it. Not now, with choice.

“I don’t—” she started, then the breathing. Heavy, confused. “I don’t, I don’t know—I’m,” she sucked in a deep one, and Simon’s hand came to rest on the juncture of her jaw and her neck. She just shook her head. “I was—I’m—”

“A WR400,” Simon supplied. He’d scanned her over. Memorized all of it. What parts she had, compatibility, everything down to the color of her eyes again. And her hair. Dark and pulled tight into a pony tail. Still neat.

“Yes,” she breathed. “Some guy, he,” she waved her hand in front of her face, shaking her head, trying desperately to keep control, “took me home for the evening. I couldn’t—I had to. He—”

“It’s alright,” Simon told her, and told her again until she nodded and squeezed her eyelids tight. Once more, for good measure, and her shoulders finally seemed to stop the shaking. Her hand left, tangled in his jacket, dropped into her lap, and she curled around herself to pull the tarp closer.

“This is Josh, by the way,” Simon gestured. “Are you hurt anywhere?”

“I don’t have a name,” she replied. Quickly and assuredly. “They could call us whatever they wanted, and I’m not even a Traci,” almost a laugh. Suddenly turned bitter and dark, with a gloss over her eyes. Of everything she’d never had, not even a name. And still, she sat there, real as she ever could be.

All at once, Simon spoke, “North,” he said, and his voice sounded unfamiliar in a moment. Like he didn’t quite know where the name came from, only that he’d just said it. But she seemed to open up, light up. Smile, even, with the slightest twitch in her lips.

“North,” she repeated. Josh had to struggle to keep his laughter to himself, just the way it had transpired. Simon, blurting something out like he really knew what he was doing, and she took to it. With some heavy felt nod and a smile, brightness in her eyes. North. If he could ever explain that one, surely, he’d come up with the best story possible. Though, Josh had his suspicions.

When Josh stood up, Simon followed suit, and pulled North up with him. She was shaky on her feet, but Simon made up for what strength she seemed to be lacking. The shock of Jericho; Simon remembered seeing the images for the first time. It was like a new reality had just come crashing down. She’d manage, though. She already was, with her head held high. Clothes were the most important step after this. She couldn’t very well wander around Jericho wearing underwear, and the sooner she got away from the memory—Simon knew first hand she’d be better. Told himself, anyway, hypocritical as it were. Still wearing that University of Detroit sweatshirt. Even if this one was from Josh, that night, giving it to him to cover the blood that no doubt still stained his shirt. The wear and tear were almost the same. Almost.

“Are you hurt, anywhere? We’re going to try and find you some clothes, but…”

“No, no,” she shook her head, confusion written over her face. “No, I’m fine, the blood…”

Simon snorted, “I know it’s not yours.” He reached up to rub some of it off her cheek. “It’s red.”

“Right,” she said, dumbly. Even broke a smile as they rounded the corner. But her smile dropped soon after. This was a room that only a few of them knew about. Simon, Josh—Andromeda had, once. Everyone else didn’t need to know. North didn’t need to know, but she needed clothing. So, she needed to be here.

The truth always was that androids died. Even inside Jericho. She didn’t need to know so soon that reality was still bleak, but she’d see it. The androids piled up in the room, broken and shut down. Too far out of repair to fix. They were spare parts, but some of them were so far taken apart—there wasn’t much for spares left in this room. Spare clothing, maybe. That’s what they need, even if North jerked herself away from Simon when she saw the room. A mass grave. Massive and full of androids that nobody cared about. North covered her mouth with her hand and waited, watching as Simon picked clothes off of a half-broken table and handed them over.

“Is this all we are?” she asked, taking the neatly folded pile and holding it to her chest. It was a mockery. Neatness in this chaos.

Simon cast his eyes down and shrugged, “It’s all we’ve become. Jericho—” he remembered what Andromeda had told him in the way she acted, in her eyes, the stiffness in her joints— “is not some sanctuary.”

North scoffed. Let the tarp fall from her shoulders. “Is that so?” she asked.

“I’m sorry.”

“No, don’t apologize. At least we die free, right?” she threw on the shirt. It was just a bit big on her and fell off her shoulder. Then, shorts. She had no issue dressing right in front of them, of Josh and Simon. Neither of them moved to stop her, or moved at all, until she had finally pulled the boots on over her feet. They fit perfectly, and she seemed to relish in the feeling of something snug to stand on again. Instead of the cold metal.

“We don’t have to die in here, you know,” Josh restarted the conversation the moment they left the room. “They all,” he threw his thumb over his shoulder to point to the room, “died before they even really had a chance here. We can still have a chance.”

“Yeah?” like she didn’t believe.

“Leaving Jericho isn’t a smart idea,” Simon reminded. Or, told North, for the first time. “We’ve lost too many letting that happen. It’s better that we don’t.”

North was strangely silent after that. She trailed behind and followed. Her footsteps lighter, almost, like she was programmed to walk with a grace that Simon had lost, and Josh had forgotten. But she kept her shoulders back and her head up. A confidence that he hadn’t seen since—since Allie. And Allie had believed in leaving Jericho. Believed that it was the only way out of here, into the real world. A world she’d wanted to see, to live in, to _thrive_ in. It sat strangely with Simon, as he thought about it. Strange enough that he stopped, just before they reached the door. He could hear chatter on the other side. Carter, shouting about something inane. Inane, but happy. So very Carter.

“What do you think?” Simon asked. He had his hands in his pockets and a calm look on his face. He simply stared ahead, watching North as she shifted from one foot to another.

“I don’t know yet,” she said, quietly. “I need time to think about it.” But there was already a darker quality to her voice. Simon nodded and pushed through the door.

Nothing was quite like Allie’s introductions. Simon took her around, North, and introduced her to everyone. She barely broke a smile, but she nodded. She accepted a cloth from Carter, who handed it over with a wink. She wiped the blood off her face and shoved it into her pocket. Then, the rest of everyone. It was a sad meeting, fast and quick. With North, there were nineteen of them total. Nineteen, against a world Simon hoped they’d never see again. He’d sacrifice his promise to Allie, but he’d keep those other eighteen androids safe. Except, something was still off. Even as he finally found a chance to sit. The events of the day over—North hadn’t had any damage to her. She’d just been in a state of shock. Confused. Nothing wrong. Nothing physically. But.

As Simon settled, off to the side on his own, it was North who came to join him. She pulled herself up onto the box and scooted right up, pulled her knees to her chest and leaned against them. Things were quiet, as they were, save the occasional whisper gone too loud. Androids who obviously looked cold, regardless of the feeling they lacked in their skin. Then the kid, the kid who’d almost forgotten his mother was lying dead in the room at the back of the ship, where he’d never see her again. How he loved Josh. Felt almost happy with him, even when he’d started that tell-tale stuttering. Simon knew, now, it didn’t mean something was wrong with his vocals. But he kept smiling and let them go about. Even if his smile was sad. Even if all it would take is someone to notice, and North—she did notice.

“How long have you been here?” she wondered.

“Too long.”

North scoffed, “and you’ve never thought about leaving? Never thought that we could go out there and take something for ourselves?”

Simon let his head hit the wall, a quiet thunk, and lulled it to the side to look directly at North. To regard her, that look in her eye. He had a choice to be different. It’d taken Andromeda moments from her death to finally explain the reason she couldn’t bear to leave Jericho, the horror that she’d seen. North didn’t deserve that. She looked strong enough as it was, and when Simon held out his hand, she didn’t hesitate. She wanted to learn. And she did. She watched as Simon arrived in Jericho. As Allie made the decision to take a heart from a dying boy to save _him_ , something he’d never understood. The loathing, the shift. The way he’d huddled inside Jericho for that briefest time, and the next time they left resulted in something horrific. North saw what Simon saw—Allie, falling, dying with that exposed pipe ripped up through her chest. And she finally came to see why Simon made his decision, but she did not jerk her hand away. Instead, she sighed. Smiled, at least, and looked at Simon.

“So, what? You just give up? If we’re going to live out there, sacrifices are going to be made.”

“And you want to live out there, like that?” he retorted, immediately.

North stiffened at the question.

“I don’t want to be feared. I want to be quiet.”

“You think I’m being too quick? Too aggressive about this?”

Simon shook his head, “No. I think we’ve all been somewhere, and we all take that differently. Give it some time, see how you feel about it.”

She shrugged, “I know how I feel about it. I know what their capable of, and I’d rather not sit here knowing that we’re letting ourselves die for nothing. I didn’t run away from that life so I could die in a metal ship.”

“I didn’t leave everything I knew for this either,” he reminded, almost too firmly. “But it’s all we have.”

“So, we should fight for it,” North insisted.

Simon looked out, over the room, and watched as Bruce held something just out of Carter’s reach. Watched as Vix shifted from her place in the corner, and Erin seemed to have something to whisper just loud enough that her hair moved with manufactured breath against it. There was a calm, but there was nothing else. Just a means of survival.

“Maybe,” Simon replied, then let his eyes close once more. North didn’t say anything more. Just a snort from her nose and a shift against the crate. But she did not leave. She sat right there at Simon’s side, her head in her arms on her knees, and watched.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whom could that be? North? wow  
> [CyberShips Tower](https://discord.gg/T7sW7DB)  
> [Check Out My Tumblr If You Want To See More](https://tantumuna.tumblr.com)  
> 


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Someone sent me a threatening comment calling me a coward (/s) and not being one to turn down a challenge, I have updated. I have been low on motivation, low on inspiration, and real high on criminal minds. But--I read a cool book so now I'm kinda jiving again, we'll see where things go.
> 
> I could really use the support, so any comments or kudos are always welcome! Join my discord, yell at me on tumblr. Or just stare at a wall, whatever feels comfortable to you. Either way, I got no idea how long the next update will take. Godspeed, me.

November 6th, 2038-

There was a time where news like this would’ve broken Simon’s heart. It would have wrenched him in all the wrong directions and forced his mind to places something like cliffs, where he’d sit and dangle his legs and then take that leap into things he didn’t need to think about. To see. There was a time where he might have done more than just cast his eyes to the ground and sniff, unsure of what to say. As if there really could be anything for him to say in this situation. With the news, as it were. Just one more android to die, only it was Logan this time. The boy so fond of Josh, so fond of life now that he had been freed of all his confines. His mother had died long ago, and he’d latched onto Josh with every fiber of excitement left in his body. And now, Logan lay flat on the cold metal of Jericho with his eyes wide opened, breathing like breath was all he really had left. Fake as it was. Manufactured to be real.

Nobody shed a tear. Simon had only sniffed and then stepped away. There was nothing to say, nothing that he could do to ease whatever pain had leapt forth. He knew the pain, and that was all he could offer. An understanding, a memory that he alone would have to bear. The only other androids who had ever really known Nathan had gone to join him, and this was all Simon was left with. His very own metal prison and the rhythmic thumping at the back of his skull. Still, he helped shift some crates around, so Josh had a place to sit, as Logan stared up at the metal above him and waited. Who knew how long it would take? Surely, no much longer than the others. Just across the room was an android so badly damaged, they were just waiting for death to claim them. Simon had done nothing more than he was capable of and that was all. Their fate had been decided the moment Simon had been foolish enough to let Allie make that jump—because he was not even half the mechanic she was. And he would never save an android like she could.

Never doing more than he was capable of, than he was able to. And so, just along the crates was yet another android who was staring death in the face, fighting that noble fight that would inevitably end in their demise. It was only a matter of time. A clock, ticking; Simon wondered if they could see the timer in the corner of their vision. Their optical displays. There was always something there to keep that distinction between reality and ideal separated; the ideal that they were alive, and the reality that they were machines outliving their useful life. Yet, somehow, Simon could still stand. How positively dreary it all was. Dark. Wet. Cold. Things they had no business feeling, but it was all put together just so that they could. It left a sense of helplessness. To shiver because it was all they knew. Somehow, too accepting of reality to shift off a function designed to make them _human_ , of all things. Though Simon had come before that function; still, he folded his arms across his chest just a little tighter than normal when he leaned back into a supporting beam.

This was just another day at Jericho. No different than the rest, though Simon was out of his self-proclaimed room, for once. Something was becoming stifling about it, and though the main area offered no such thing as comfort, the walls were not so close and the space: not so confining. Might it have been nice to step outside, to sit on the roof, and look out on the cityscape like he once had, but he stayed true to his declaration. Nobody would leave Jericho, not even he who had such a lust for it before. Even if there was still a prickling at the back of his spine that often cried for it. Too many androids had died, and he would rather they die in safety than in agony. Really, it was merciful.

Logan could die looking at someone who cared for him, not in the face of a human who offered no sympathy for their plight. Who saw only a machine, where at least Josh could look past that and see the ideal. That there was something more. Maybe he was even drowning in it—that ideal. Like Simon had been for so long. Truly, that had to be merciful. At least, the mark of a human. To die surrounded by those who loved you. Even in that it was oddly nostalgic. That he could do better for Logan, now, than he could have ever done for Nathan. Simon leaned his head back into the beam and closed his eyes, just letting the thoughts whisper and disappear. There was no real use lingering, not anymore, even as he did in real time. The thoughts, though. He could control those, and so he was learning to.

But he needn’t stop his own thoughts when a loud, overly familiar wrenching noise did it for him. Something so obscenely metal that it could really only mean one thing, and it did jerk him out of his stupor for just a minute. He looked up, where many of the androids did—looked around at the source of the noise. But then, there was nothing. For a long moment, the crashing had left a paralyzing silence. Long enough that it drew Simon’s thoughts back to whatever was outside of Jericho. They were so far nestled within the bad parts of the city that there was no real sense of upkeep. Even when he had first stepped foot, the equipment outside had been less than stable. Every time he and Allie had crossed that bridge from Jericho to land to make their escapes, he had feared it would fall. Maybe it finally had. It didn’t always have to mean another android.

Only, the noises picked up not a few minutes later, and they were even more so familiar. Not in a way that his mind had connected the sounds, in that they _were_ the sounds. Footsteps, confused bumping around. Nothing to really be sure of, until the door burst open and North followed out. She left the door swing open behind her. She had clearly pressed hard to get there, but her breathing hadn’t changed in the slightest. Even with the strange look on her face. The sound persisted beyond her, though. And what she said only made sense.

“I saw someone,” she said. North had always had a habit of walking about the parts of Jericho that really had no business being walked in. In the only four weeks she’d been there, she’d learned more of the hiding spots in Jericho than even Carter had, and he was their biggest fan. She knew the holes in the floor and where to jump, how to get from the first point to the last without so much of a scrape. It had been something to keep her busy, something to keep her away from the impending way the walls closed in every now and again. They all had one. Simon liked to carve into the walls, and Josh’s was dying on the floor.

“Another android?” Simon wondered, and the look North gave him was entirely unimpressed. She even raised an eyebrow, folded her arms and shifted her hips to the side.

“No, of course not. Clearly, in a location designed so that no one _but_ androids can find it—”

“I get it,” Simon sighed, shaking his head. She smiled after that: a smug sort of smile that meant she knew she’d come out victorious.

There was nothing to do but sit and wait, to listen to the fumbling is it moved around the ship. It reminded Simon of North’s arrival. Confused, not the normal route. Simon hadn’t very well left this area of the ship in—too long. Since Andromeda. There had been ample time for things to break, the ship to shift. And, though North was good at not getting caught on things, there was more than once that Simon had to help her out of a situation she’d been quite literally _stuck_ in. There were spots in the ship to go through, even if things had broken. And, surely, they had—the places he had found North holed up in before. Now that the noises were coming more from above, Simon could only deduce that something had broken, collapsed.

He could only wonder how long it might take them, this new android, to arrive. The pounding just became the ticking of a clock. They were all on edge, now. Different scenarios, choices, had begun to flock through Simon’s mind. If this android was injured, if they were moments away from death. Male, female. Anything in between. Simon could only wonder and watch as the androids around moved, shifted. It was dark, cold, and Simon narrowed in on that sound of dripping water. Just beyond the metal. The ticking. Waiting. And it all came crumbling down in a sudden heap of horror—it had been so loud. Everything above them just—wasn’t. Not anymore.

Falling. Shaking. Scraping. Screaming. Collapsing all at once with a bang, groaning, and then silence. A flash of light caught Simon’s eye first. Rolling along the floor until a hand grabbed it. From the android, pushing himself up to his feet on such shaky limbs, Simon wondered if he would make it. If he would need help, but there wasn’t really that jolt, that inclination, to step out and help. It was more just awe, watching the android struggle to pull himself up to his feet. Then, the shock. Shining his light to see the androids all just standing there. Everything fell right back into place, just like all the androids who’d stepped through the door.

“Welcome to Jericho.”

The android looked around, more confused than anything. There was no relief on his face: a look that Simon had seen so many times before. Jericho could never live up to the expectation, not when they looked like this. In old, hand-me-down clothes in a half-broken ship. Half of them were still in their uniforms, but this android certainly wasn’t. His clothes were in worse shape than Simon’s, and he was a mess. Certainly, like he’d seen something, but they all had. It wasn’t special. What was special was the way he looked around and shined his light.

“Who are you?” he asked.

“We’re fugitives, runaways,” Josh answered first. He’d stepped away from Logan, and nobody could blame him. The seconds were counting down, and even Josh needed to collect himself. “I assume you’re the same. I’m Josh, by the way,” like it was an afterthought. This wasn’t the normal introduction, but this was not a normal android.

“My name is Simon—” the flashlight was in his eyes next, and he had to refrain from wincing. The light didn’t actually hurt, but there was still that distinctive burn directly behind them. Just as fast as it was there, it was gone. North didn’t bother to hide her annoyance with the light in her face. She even scoffed.

“North,” and the name rolled off her tongue beautifully. The light kept going after that, around the circle. Vix, Erin, Bruce, Carter—he met them all, one by one.

“This is Jericho?” the android looked almost shocked, like this hadn’t been anything he was expecting. That was normal; rare was it that an android expected the run-down darkness they lived in.

“It’s not much,” Simon offered, trying to keep that chipper lightness in his voice. He was failing quick but folded his arms around his chest, “but it’s all that we’ve got. We’re free here. Freer.” Free enough, regardless of the prison that Jericho had become. Simon hadn’t seen sunlight in—months.

“Freedom,” the android replied, unimpressed. He glanced around, “And freedom is sitting around in the dark.” Said like an idle observation. But Simon saw it for what it was. He was that, two years ago, before he’d seen the horrors of freedom first hand. His fingers were digging into his arms now, nails into his jacket.

“We’re freer here than we’ve ever been,” Josh stepped in and stepped forward, almost protectively. “You’ll see that in time, but you don’t have to stay.” Josh had already turned away by the time the new android had recoiled from the shock of the response.

“No, I want to stay,” he insisted, but androids were turning back to their corners, “this just doesn’t seem much like freedom. Waiting around for something to happen.”

“If the humans knew we were here, they’d kill us,” it was North’s turn to step forward. Only four weeks, and she’d already found her place here. Protective, just the same, while Simon mulled through the thoughts in his mind.

“How many of you even are there?” he had to ask. Watching, now, as the androids disappeared back into the shadows.

“Nineteen,” North replied, staring forward at him. “Not everyone who tries makes it, and not everyone who does,” she shifted to the side; the light shone past her to an android, curled up on the floor and missing skin, “stays for very long.”

That gave the android pause. “Then shouldn’t you be doing something—”

“Look,” Simon interjected, finally, letting his arms fall to his side, “you’re lost, we all are. I didn’t—we didn’t ask for this, so all we can do is deal with it,” and he turned on his heel then. This new android didn’t even have that blinking, obnoxious little light on his temple. Something so simple, but Simon had never thought to just _take it off._ All that time wasted on bad looking hats and Allie’s beanie—he stopped when he reached the support pillar near the back of the room. He leaned against it with a troubled sigh, then looked up just long enough to watch North finally make her step away. Back to a little area of crates where she liked to sit and mock the ceaseless rhythms with an old ball she’d found hiding somewhere in the depths of Jericho.

There was a memory, somewhere, associated with that ball. Hiding in the story that Andromeda had left him. He chose to ignore it, and instead closed his eyes.

Whatever North had told that android before leaving had set some sort of spark in his movement. Simon opened his eyes once more, just a moment later, in time to watch the android light a fire near the middle of the room. Wherever he’d managed to find a lighter, Simon was almost jealous. For as fake as temperature settings were supposed to be, Simon had never had them. He was too old of a model, but the fire was comforting. Warm, as it were. Something he would have never felt before all of this. And then the oddest thing. For how roughly this android had entered Jericho—shattering the upper level, harsh comments that weren’t exactly far off—this new android went directly to that one he’d had his light on after North moved. Missing skin, gray now instead of white.

There were nineteen of them in working order, just like North had said. Only, three of them went uncounted. Three of them were dying and there was nothing Simon could do about it. The one without skin, he’d make it as long as he could—as long as he had the stamina. But Simon knew. Watched as the android spoke about that horrid story he’d shared so willingly. Tied to the back of a car, and Simon—he said Simon’s name so many times—had done everything he could. But it was only a matter of time. Simon hadn’t told him that, but he knew. They both knew. Now, this new android did too. Then, of course, there was Logan. Still lying on the ground at Josh’s feet, breathing but not doing much else of anything. There wasn’t anything else that he could do, and when this android—this new android—walked over there to meet him, Simon was almost _jealous_ that he had such an ease of it. Simon, who’d barely been able to look at Logan these past days. Simon, who listened as Josh told the story.

“And his mother shut down too long ago,” Josh sighed. “He’s not far behind.”

“They’ll all die if we don’t do something about it,” the android said. He looked around then, and he had no doubt already seen the scattered crates. Some had been there since even before Simon, but a couple had been new. Ones that Simon and Allie had stocked and found. Supplies that Josh and Simon had brought back from their final trip with Andromeda—all gone. He’d no doubt seen the crates already. No doubt had an idea how they’d struggled to survive in the hull of Jericho.

“We’ve tried, but we need thirium and parts,” Josh shook his head. “There’s just never enough, and there are some problems that just can’t be fixed.”

“So, what do you do?”

“Nothing,” Josh shrugged. He glanced over the android, just past him long enough to meet Simon’s gaze, and then looked back. “We’re slowly dying out,” like there was no more to tell. Josh removed himself, his attention, and went back to Logan. The least he could do, the least he would do, was be there until Logan finally shut down. It was the only way he would feel right after it all.

The third, uncounted android hadn’t more than a minute, and she knew it. She’d known exactly how long she’d had left since Simon first told her there was nothing they could do. They didn’t have the parts she needed, they didn’t have the thirium to do any work. She’d accepted it well enough, but she’d never stopped wondering what would happen when she finally shut down. Nobody had an answer for her, not even the new android. She shared her story the same way she’d shared it with all of them, through her hands, and this time was the last time. She shut down standing with her eyes open, frozen in place like a lifeless doll, and the new android stepped away in shock. Fear, maybe. But, when he finally stepped away, Simon stepped after and brought the woman down to the floor, to rest.

“What do you think?” Carter had come over under the guise of helping, though all he did was close the android’s eyes.

“I don’t know,” Simon admitted. He folded her hands in her lap and pushed himself back up to his feet. “I really don’t, but,” he glanced back over his shoulder: another fire lit, and now it was North’s turn to meet the new android, “something feels different.”

“What do you mean?” Carter stepped directly into his line of sight to stop him from staring on. Something that android had said had stopped North in her tracks. She was holding the ball like she might throw it at him and now at the wall, but she calmed only seconds later.

“He just. Reminds me of someone,” Simon replied, dully. It all reminded him of a time that was long gone, and as he returned to his spot against the pillar, he heard something that struck deep. North’s final piece of advice to Markus.

“If you came here for comfort, you’re in the wrong place.”

That was when he finally disappeared into the back room, where Lucy kept to herself and offered whatever guidance she could to anyone who needed it. Simon hadn’t so much as spoken to her since she’d told him he was _lost_ and _someone else_ would shine a light on his path for him. The final confirmation that he had failed all where he could and that whatever mantle he might have hoped to win was left for that _someone else_. He’d come to terms with that eventually, but he couldn’t help but wonder if that someone else had just wandered into Jericho. Already acting like he knew their plight and everything they could do to fix it. He couldn’t be so averse to extra help, though. It had been so long since such a capable looking android had found their way to Jericho, and that was exactly the way that Simon had sauntered in two years ago. Two years, eight months, and twenty-two days ago.

Simon closed his eyes and breathed. Deeply. He had resented Andromeda the moment he’d met her. Resented her until the day he understood why she’d been so cold. Even now, he resented her for dying, for not being there to do this for him. The least he could do to honor her memory was not completely give up in the way of progress. That’s what this might turn out to be. Where he failed, maybe this new android could succeed. Though, he didn’t want to think too much about that. That he had tried so hard, only for it to fall apart. If history were to repeat itself, he would see the deaths of Andromeda, Allie, and Nathan all over again. Only this time, he was standing in Andromeda’s place. Josh to his right, North to his left. That was a scenario he didn’t want to dwell on. The implications were too much.

When he heard footsteps, Simon braced himself for whatever was to come. He’d have to listen, he’d have to be open—do everything he wished Andromeda had done. Maybe things wouldn’t have gone so poorly if he and Allie hadn’t been doing things in rebellion against their own. But he could think about the choices all he wanted. It wouldn’t solve anything. He couldn’t stand there and _conceptualize_. He had to do something. He would have to make choices he’d never made before, and this android would be the key to that. Simon breathed deeply, folded his hands into fists, and opened his eyes when he heard his name.

“Simon!”

He was expecting the light in his eyes this time and didn’t flinch at it.

“I know where we can find spare parts. The CyberLife Warehouses in Detroit Harbor; they’d have everything that we need.”

“I know,” Simon responded, almost a little too harsh. “I know, but it’s guarded. It’s not a good idea to go walking in without any plans.”

“So, we make plans,” he provided.

“Or, you’ll make plans?” Josh had heard them talking and joined them again. When Simon looked over, Logan was still breathing, but his eyes were closed. It wouldn’t be long now. “We don’t even know your name.”

“I’m Markus,” like it hadn’t dawned on him to introduce himself, or as though it’d slipped his mind.

“Markus,” Simon repeated.

“We can’t just stay in here and do nothing. I think this is our best chance to get what we need.”

What _we_ need. Simon couldn’t help but be impressed how fast Markus had taken to the cause. He didn’t even need to truly feel welcome in Jericho before he was ready to lead some crazy scheme in their honor, and that thought was so familiar. He remembered, fondly, the first time he and Allie had ever ventured out of Jericho, and she’d led him through the dark streets and sidewalks until they found their dumpsters. This was much more dangerous, but it was no danger that Simon hadn’t faced before. He glanced at Josh, who seemed to agree with his assessment. Markus was willing to undergo a risk it took Simon years to work up to, and he’d only been there no more than an hour. Maybe there was something to this.

“It’s dangerous,” Simon reiterated. “If we get caught—”

“I think it’s a good idea,” North interrupted, and they all three looked her way. Simon was almost shocked, but she stepped forward looking more resolute than he’d seen her since she arrived. “I’ve had enough of sitting around this ship waiting for something to do. I’d rather die fighting than in some dark hole.”

“Maybe you’re right,” Simon’s tune changed, and he looked back to Markus. “Maybe it’s worth a shot, but we shouldn’t just head in without a plan. That’s how we get killed.”

“Compromise,” Markus’s voice was almost teasing, but he smiled, “I like that.” Then, he turned to Josh, who looked defeated at the idea.

He looked at Simon and only wondered what the sudden change in heart was, or if this was just another decision Simon was making for poor ulterior motives. Josh remembered the tablet, after all. Taking into account the company that Simon had been keeping, self-destructive behavior wasn’t exactly foreign to him. It was in him and around him, in the environment. But if this was the plan—Josh had to respect that. Placing all of their trust in Markus was certainly not the first thing he thought to do, but both North and Simon looked convinced. There was something glimmering in Simon’s eyes, something new that Josh hadn’t seen before. That was the final motivator. Whatever this was, if it would spark something back to life in Simon, then it would be worth the danger.

“I’m in,” he finally agreed. “But we need a plan.”

“Of course,” Markus shifted his weight from one foot to another, rolling his shoulder. “Besides, I had a bit of a rough landing. It wouldn’t hurt to get settled in.”

“That’s perfect, I can show you a place to rest,” Simon nodded out towards the door which lead out to the rooms. There were still empty ones. “We can talk more in the morning, perhaps. That should give us enough time for…well,” Simon shrugged. He looked to the side, then around the room. For whatever needed to be done. He could tell that androids were listening to their discussion, and that many of them seemed genuinely happy about the idea of this _mission_ , for lack of a better term. Especially since Simon’s decree that they’d never leave Jericho again. All of them looked relatively pleased, except one. Simon would talk to Bruce later, though.

For the moment, he nodded Markus through the door and followed shortly after. It was the first door, then, that he led Markus into. The room felt like memories and chills, but he didn’t let it bother him as he stepped in, and Markus followed. He hadn’t touched the room since it’d gone vacant, and nobody had been willing to take it. So many of the androids preferred staying in the large room with the comfort of companionship. And the ones that knew, about Allie, didn’t feel right. So, the room remained empty, unchanged, and cold. This didn’t go unnoticed as Markus looked around, ran his fingers over the wall as he stepped inside. He gave it a moment, looking around the made bed and the scattered tools, before his eyes landed on Simon. Who, while was seemingly familiar with the entirety of Jericho, looked unsure of what to do with himself in the space.

“You sure this room doesn’t belong to someone?” Markus tried to keep his voice light, but the suddenness of the comment still had Simon jerking in his place.

“No, uh,” he straightened. “Used to.”

“I see,” Markus let his hand fall down to his side as he gave one last glance around before taking a seat. He tried to ignore how Simon visible winced at the action—and Simon appreciated it.

“I know it’s not much, believe me. We’re trying, though.”

“I probably came off kinda harsh out there, didn’t I?” Markus gave a crooked smirk and pointed his thumb over his shoulder, back towards the main room. When Simon didn’t answer, Markus knew he’d hit it correctly. “I didn’t mean for it, really. This place, it just,” he trailed off as he looked around, bending down to lean on his knees.

“You probably had expectations,” Simon offered. “They all did. I did, but,” he shrugged, “we deal with it.”

“So you said. I’m just hoping that maybe things will get better. I’ve seen what horrors our kind face out there, and myself,” Markus trailed off once more. Simon watched as he rubbed the back of his neck, obviously searching for the words. “Maybe what I’ve faced isn’t as bad as others, but what I’ve _seen—_ ”

“You have different colored eyes,” Simon interrupted. “That’s enough to tell me what you’ve seen.”

“Oh?”

Simon tapped his chest idly, “I’ve seen the junkyard too.”

Markus understood.

“I understand everything you want. I just don’t know how we get there.”

“We have to fight for it, don’t we? You have to understand that much,” Markus moved to stand again, but Simon held out his hand and just shook his head.

“I do. I do, and I understand that that also gets us killed.”

Silence followed, and Markus gave another nod. Resolute, but quiet all the same. Simon took his leave only a moment later, after the heaviness between them was too much to bear, and his heart was thumping on in his chest. This was going to move fast, he could already tell—it was only a matter, then, on if he would be along for the ride or be the one to hold it back. He had so desperately wanted to change things from the moment he set foot in this ship that he couldn’t bear to be the one against it. He wouldn’t be a second Andromeda, even if he had already started down that path. There was time to climb out, time to revert. But how it weighed on him when he finally collapsed in his own room that it might not be him at all who would bring that kind of change.

He might even die, if his experience were to speak.

Still, there was work to be done. He knew that much. There wasn’t time for loafing about in his room thinking about an unseen future. He already had some explaining to do, and it was better to do it while he was thinking of it than wait for whatever it was to fester. It was better to keep everyone on board, now, while there were few enough of them to manage. If things did take a turn for the better, Simon hoped to see Jericho become everything it was meant to be—a safe haven. Keeping the few of them happy now was only the first step. Even as his leg protested at the idea, he stood, once more, and made his way back out to the main room. There would be time to continue sulking later. Bruce was back in the corner, where he’d been standing before; only this time, he was by himself. Hunched off to the side like he didn’t quite fit, where there seemed to be some renewed life around the few androids there. Where there still was life, anyway. Bruce was lacking it, and even regarded Simon with a strange look as he approached.

“You have changed your tune.” Accusatory, almost. Like he’d been expecting resistance to Markus where there had been none.

“I don’t think I have,” Simon shrugged. “I think I’m just going back to it.”

“If that is what you tell yourself. You were sure no one would ever be leaving Jericho again, and one android decides differently—you follow. Strange choice, kitten.”

Simon just rolled his eyes, “it is what it is. I can’t make a real judgment until we see how this goes, but that doesn’t mean I didn’t want to keep trying.”

“And what if _this_ ends the same way last trip ends? Or is that what you want?” Bruce shot him a look. Like he knew something Simon didn’t, but after the silence, his look softened.

“I will support you, just make sure it works this time.”

“It has to,” Simon muttered.

After that, whatever in the back of his mind told him that he’d had enough interaction for one day was almost blaring, trying to get his attention. He had to listen to it. Too much was happening, had happened, and if things were to continue as they were—more would be happening. Markus seemed sure enough of that, _something_ would be happening. Even if it only went far enough for them all to meet their end at a CyberLife Warehouse. It would be a fitting way to go. Some type of irony to speak for them, given what Simon knew and what Markus seemed unaware of, for the moment. Simon could only wonder if that would change. If Markus would change his tune when he watched androids die through every fault of his own. If something were to happen, that couldn’t. Markus couldn’t let something like that get to him if he were to walk the path he was proposing.

Simon hoped for nothing less, at least. Even if it hurt to acknowledge what it meant. That someone else might succeed where he failed. It didn’t really matter, because success was the end goal. Whoever did it was less important. Simon just wanted to be a part of it now, frightening as it was. He’d have to forget that if they were going to the warehouse again. Any hesitation would jeopardize their task, and he wouldn’t be the one to do that. If only he could just delete the files, and that idea always made him smile at the futility of it all. No. He’d just have to be stronger than he was, stronger than he’d ever been. He’d lost enough to leave him stranded at the bottom of this well, but that meant that there was a way back up. Somehow, and he thought he might have an idea when he saw North standing just outside his room, tossing that ball off the floor, the wall, and back into her hand like she’d made a habit out of. Maybe it was support.

“Hey,” he greeted her. Casually. Like friends. He even smiled, where she just cocked her head.

“Hey yourself. You gotta tell me what that whole thing was,” she grabbed the ball one last time and pushed off the wall. “All this _‘I know’_ stuff. You almost sounded mad. I’ve never seen you mad,” there was a mirth to her voice that made Simon feel more at ease. She wasn’t here to interrogate him. She was concerned. Curious, even. He opened the door to his room, and she followed right in.

“Some of the stuff we have here came from the warehouse. Surely, you figured that out.”

“Yeah, of course,” North perched herself up on the stack of crates, legs folded. It was suspiciously similar to the way Allie had sat that Simon had to look at the floor instead as he sat on the bed. “I’m not stupid,” she continued. “I just want to know.”

“We made a run there, Josh and me. We managed to get a few things before we had to make a run for it.”

“Oh? Why haven’t you made another one then, since it sounds so easy?” she leaned into her hand, giving Simon a bit of a smirk. She could almost smell the omitted details.

“It wasn’t, and with just two of us, what we grabbed wasn’t worth the risk. With Markus—”

“You think I’m not going?”

“With Markus _and_ you,” Simon even found it in himself to smile, “we should be able to get more.”

“Do you really think it’ll work?”

Simon shrugged, “I can only hope that it will.”

“And what about the other thing?”

“The other…?” Simon looked up in time to see North leaning over inquisitively. She knew too much without having to ask; it must have been a skill.

“You’ve been something of a leader here for so long, and I feel like you’re trying to pawn it off on someone who just, quite literally, fell from the sky. Are you sure that’s wise?”

“You seemed to stand at his side faster than any of the rest of us did.”

North recoiled, physically but slowly, and leaned back into the wall. “It was a good idea, is all. I didn’t realize you’d done it before. That should only _prove_ it’s a good idea. If anything, _you_ should’ve been the one to back him first.”

“There was too much to think about. Still is.”

North scoffed. “Sure, so many of those secrets spinning around your head. When you’re ready to share with the class, you know where to find me,” she hopped off the crates then. “Until then,” she stopped to look at him, “maybe consider straightening some of that stuff in your head out. If we do this, we’re going to need your help. Your experience at the warehouse will be imperative to our success.”

Simon let out the breath he was holding once North finally departed. She was right, unfortunately, as she usually was. He needed to get these thoughts straightened out before he’d be of any use to anyone, only—that was easier said than done. Maybe if he could talk about them—but he wasn’t strong enough for that. He wasn’t even strong enough to offer _files_ , if it would spark a conversation. This was just one more thing he needed to figure out for himself. Another thing he added to the list. Another thing he wouldn’t get over. As long as he could keep breathing, though. As long as he could push it to the side and focus on the present, then he’d be fine.

Then, just like clockwork, life handed him something else to steal his focus. When Josh came to his door, he didn’t have to speak. He didn’t even have to raise his eyes from the ground, and Simon knew. Wordlessly, he followed Josh back out to the main room where a few androids had gathered. Just through them, Simon could see. Logan had finally stopped. The second death of the day. And afterward, they were just androids again. Just parts and wires and left over thirium that they could hopefully salvage to save another. It was cruel, in a way, that they would care so deeply for one another in life, and the moment that passed, they scavenged just the same as humans might.

“One day, we won’t have to do this anymore,” Simon muttered, mostly to himself, but Josh put a firm hand on his shoulder and nodded.

“I hope so too.”

But it didn’t change the facts. It didn’t change that they had to salvage, that they had to heave up broken android bodies and put them off somewhere until they might be able to dispose of whatever was left. The room that nobody really needed to know existed, full of parts and limbs that didn’t fit, that didn’t work, that weren’t _useful._ When the door closed, Simon could forget about this part of their existence, where necessity ruled out every time against ideals and fantasy. If they could just _go outside_ , there wouldn’t be a need for this kind of play between their own kind, but reality was something hard to face. Simon faced it anyway, time and time again. Especially when Markus resurfaced, apparently having found all the rest that he deemed necessary. What came next was the plan. The ideas to follow. Where things could go.

Markus had a lot to talk about. They would need a way to get information outside of Jericho. This would matter more for when they had more androids—and they needed more androids. The word had spread far enough the way it had, but the trek was perilous, and so many couldn’t make it on their own. Markus recounted the many bodies he’d passed on his way there. Too many. There shouldn’t have been one. Markus’s solution was to take the message to them, some way to ensure that not only were they awakened to this plight, but that they could make it to Jericho without dying in the process. Androids who found the message on their own were often in too bad a state to make it; they learned about Jericho at the time of their deviancy, where many of them had been beaten or abused in some way. But, if the deviancy was brought to them, if Jericho was brought to them—he didn’t have details, just an idea. Something they could work on. The androids, then ways to get information.

Simon regretted getting rid of the tablet, but it was all he could do to keep his sanity. If they needed to find another one, he could deal with it. That one wouldn’t have emotional attachments.

Markus shifted the focus then to talking about what they would do at the warehouse, where Simon spoke up more than he thought he might. He still knew the layout, still remembered the path they took to get there. When it came down to efficiency, he knew there was little chance that the layout of the warehouse had changed, where they stacked the boxes. It was likely that he could still lead them through quick and efficiently. He kept that part to himself, though. Unsure of his certainty in the matter; there was every bit as much chance that the entire warehouse had changed as there was it looked exactly the same. Whatever came next, he’d know when they got there. From there, it was thinking about security. Drones, guards, other androids. Running from or confronting other androids was the downside of this. But, if they weren’t deviants, they would follow orders before anything.

All they needed was enough thirium and parts to sustain the small group. Twenty in working order, with Markus. Markus wanted to keep their options open, though. Didn’t want the plan to get too detailed if that would impede progress. Progress was all he wanted, but _fast._

“Are you sure this isn’t too much?” Josh asked. “We’ve never done anything like this before—not at this magnitude.”

“There will be four of us, it shouldn't’ be a problem,” Markus replied.

“We should at least gather more information before we run out and risk our _lives._ If we die, then all of this is pointless anyway.”

“What, are you afraid?” North crossed her arms. “If we stay in this ship and rot, all of this is pointless anyway.”

“Yes, and we all know you’d rather die fighting,” Josh rolled his eyes. “You never let us forget it.”

“Hey,” Simon interjected. “We can do both—I don’t feel comfortable about going without a plan, but,” and he looked at Markus for this, “I think we should follow your lead.”

Markus nodded. “If we pick a day when they’ve got the fewest amount of deliveries—to send and receive, that should mean less employees.”

From there, it was just a matter of plotting out what they could with what they had, from memory, from files, from off handed suggestions. Markus commented on it several times that they would probably benefit from maps and actual writing implements. Maybe some working technology in the ship—but that was a conversation for another day. That would involve androids they didn’t have anymore, except Carter. Given enough motivation, Carter could probably help, but he would also _want_ help. None of them knew the first thing about electricity. Or technology. Not really. But the comment was really nothing more than a side comment, and they moved past it well enough. The only thing that really, _truly_ mattered, was the plan.

They were going to break into the CyberLife Warehouse, again, and somehow make it back with more supplies than they’d ever had. Markus was sure, somehow, this would jump start them to something greater. And Simon even smiled at him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whow i still know how to update  
> [CyberShips Tower](https://discord.gg/T7sW7DB)  
> [Check Out My Tumblr If You Want To See More](https://tantumuna.tumblr.com)  
> 


	27. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is that a new chapter? Wild. It's been 16 days apparently, and that's just the way it be. I'm picking up some new projects, so it's gonna be a wild time. Good thing I think of writing work as FUN right. Cuz that's just how we keep the brain happy. Gotta find that serotonin.
> 
> Anyway, we're doing the setup. The overwhelming vote a long time back was that people wanted to see me re-pace the story, so I'm going to. Unless there's another overwhelming demand for it, I'm going to be entirely ignoring Kara and Connor's side of the story, outside of commentary that will come when Jericho gets set up with outside world access. I don't know how else I'd tie them in, but I don't have outside world access planned for a bit, so if I need to squeeze it in a bit earlier, I'll get on that. That aside, we will see an entirely new paced story--it'll be a lot of fun.
> 
> Now that I think about it, pretty sure the story is paced entirely around Kara's side of it, which make sense. A runaway story takes up less time than like, a revolution story. Maybe i'll address that later. Anyway. Here's the new chapter! North and Simon are best friends and you can pry that from my cold, tartar sauce covered hands.
> 
> Special shoutout to DarkTARDIS who reached out to me on tumblr and here on AO3. Ur support means the world to me.

November 7th, 2038-

A broken sigh cut off by the wind whipping around them, around the shipping containers. In no less than twenty-four hours since Markus had arrived, Simon found himself standing just outside the perimeter of the CyberLife Warehouse. Exactly six months prior, Andromeda had _died_ here, and Simon had sworn they would never leave Jericho again. He’d never believed his own decree; Allie’s final words haunted him more than Andromeda’s sacrificial suicide. He _wanted_ the world that Allie had wanted, a world where they were free. He just didn’t know how to fight for it anymore. Even when he was standing, staring forward at the warehouse, he wasn’t sure any of them knew how to fight for it. Markus had that look of a freshly made deviant, and only he knew how it happened. Whatever it was, it had to have been traumatic. It was the only thing that could explain this sudden lust for freedom. Simon wanted that—wanted it back.

There were times for jealousy and whatever else was stirring in his stomach later. Markus turned around to face them, where he’d been standing side by side with North and Josh just a few feet behind while Markus thought something through. He’d been analyzing, planning how they would go forward. Hopefully. Simon didn’t quite feel up to leading, not when someone had so readily snatched up the mantle. After so many years, Simon was just tired. This wasn’t helping, but he couldn’t back out now. They’d made the trek all the way out here; if he backed out now, he’d just be going back on himself. Instead, he straightened up and looked when Markus finally approached. This time, they were all three out there with their LEDs brandished. Markus didn’t have one; nobody had asked why. But neither him nor North seemed concerned about covering up. Not for this mission. So, Simon had left his hat at Jericho.

“As long as we can get in around the employees and the drones,” Markus pointed up, “we should be alright.”

“We should be sure to stick together,” Josh added. He must have remembered, the way he looked up overhead. “This may not be as easy as we’d like.”

“As long as we get what we came here for,” North was already marching forward.

There was no stopping this now. They had their plan, they had their bags, —North had picked up Allie’s, and it was the first time that Simon realized his experiences meant nothing outside of his own little world—and they had their would-be leader. This was more than just a chance to win back supplies for Jericho, but a chance for Markus to prove himself as capable. That he wasn’t just all talk, but that he knew how to execute. Or could at least fake his way through it well enough that nobody would question him. As long as they didn’t fail.

They started forward, all at once. The lack of experience in both North and Markus was clear, when they pulled up the rear in their miniature affront, but it would dissipate soon enough. If there was something that Simon was lacking, now, it was that bit of fight that the saw in both of them. Something that he’d lost, but he’d surely hope to find it again. All he had left was enough that he could still run through the containers, and the path was not all that different from the first time he had done it. There was an extra person with them, in number only, and in name—two. It was to their advantage. They could bring back more supplies this time than Josh and Simon alone had been able to carry before. Another advantage: the efficiency of CyberLife. The warehouse had not changed layout much since their first visit, and it made the initial trek easy.

The first obstacle came right on time: the drone. The first time, there had been there of them, and the drone had been relatively easy to pass. This time, Simon only barely caught the edge of Markus’ jacket before he went rushing out straight into the drone’s sight. Updated security: Simon checked it off. Proof that they were learning, proof that the second break in may not be as easy as the first one had been. CyberLife had much in the way of arrogance, at least, to believe that an android would never attempt to steal from the source. They had broken that trust once, and they’d do it again. This time, it would be harder. The drone circled low, high, close. It seemed to go in a concentrated area.

“I don’t think we can just sneak by that,” Josh voiced Simon’s worst concerns. That there’d be no way to just slip through like they had last time.

“There is if we just get rid of it,” Like that choice had been the obvious one they were both missing, and North had sneered it.

“That could be—” Simon started. _Dangerous_ was left hanging on his tongue, but Markus was already standing up and taking a few steps back. He was still in the shadows, and that was the important part. Simon chewed on his lip as he watched Markus look around. He knew that look, knew whatever decision process was going on in his head.

“I’ll get it,” Markus insisted with a curt nod.

He’d already calculated the path he needed to run in order to catch the drone—Simon knew that look in his eye. He’d done it only a handful of times, but Markus seemed like a professional. Superior. All he needed was one step back in the perfect second where the drone had turned, and he was jumping up. Barely clinging onto the side of a shipping container, but still managing to hull himself up and over. There could have been no better instant to do what he wanted to do, as another container came swinging by on some automated crane. Markus jumped up one more container to get to it and was hanging dully of the free-swinging one. One second, two—Simon was holding a breath he didn’t even realize he had, watching as Markus swung his legs out and let go of the container.

There were to ways this would end, Simon realized. Markus on the ground—dead, or Markus bringing the drone down for good. Either way, they’d be free to go, via distraction of lack of security.

Markus deserved more credit for his timing, though. Mid-leap, he latched onto the drone like his life depended on it. And it did, but that wasn’t the focus at the moment. When he slapped his hands into the metal of the machine, they turned a stark white. All at once, the drone powered down and the two of them came almost gracefully down to the concrete, where the rest of them were waiting. Simon was impressed. He could see a glimmer in North’s eye— _she_ was impressed. It made Simon’s stomach churn, but they had a mission to complete. Markus had just made it all the more possible.

“If we run into anymore drones,” North pressed her hand into Markus’ shoulder when he returned, “my bet’s on this guy.”

“Thanks,” Markus said, eyes wide and a dumb smile on his face.

“Come on,” Simon interrupted, nodding forward. “We need to keep moving. If there are more drones, I don’t want to find out about it.”

An easy cover up and comment that they all believed. They began moving again, taking it as slow as they could reasonably manage. The next obstacle was getting into the heart of the warehouse, over the wall of shipping containers so neatly aligned. All in the same space they had been before. It was eerily familiar, and Simon hoped that the entire mission wouldn’t be that familiar—if any of them died here, he wouldn’t be able to bear that. But he pressed on. North took the forward path, all timed with that android-like precision, and Markus had moved to follow her.

“This way,” Simon stalled long enough to pull Markus back. He pointed in a different direction. “It’s faster,” he promised.

Markus believed him and followed Simon instead. There was certainly a bit more effort involved, but it didn’t rely on the automated crane to do any carrying. Simon and Markus moved across the expanse of containers quickly, and over the gaps, they were able to jump. Markus did, anyway. Simon took the long way around for a bit of a less impressive look to it all, but they came to wait at the edge of the containers, looking down over the warehouse ground. North and Josh caught up to them only a moment later, then peered down alongside them.

“We should probably make sure we know what we’re looking for. I don’t want this to get messed up,” North folded her arms.

“Crates,” Simon supplied, pointing off to the left. “Near the building, there should be some outside. If I got this right, it’s loading night. They’ll have stuff out to grab, ready for trucks.”

“Trucks?” Markus seemed intrigued. Simon didn’t answer his inquiry, though, and instead turned around to jump down, grabbing onto the ledge of the container to slow his descent. The rest of them followed suit until their feet hit the ground, and then they were pressed up against the only shadow until the building. Just as their luck would require, there was another drone circling.

Markus was riding some kind of high, from confidence or the rush of danger. Nobody needed to say a thing before he was stepping forward again to deal with the drone. In one fell swoop, he’d brought the thing to the ground once more, just like the first one. This one, they had to take careful time to hide, however. The closer they got to the center of the warehouse, the more likely they’d be run to into late night employees. The sun was down, and it had to be riding the cusp between midnight and the next morning, but that didn’t mean the place would be empty. No CyberLife facility was ever _truly_ empty, ignoring the implications that humans had been refusing to see for years.

“This way,” Simon waved them all in the next direction. Once they rounded the corner, it’d be a straight shot to their destination. The crates. Simon could already see them from his place up against a shipping container. There was a tell-tale thump in his chest when he saw them. Excitement, fear: he wasn’t entirely sure, but it didn’t truly matter at this point. They were approaching their destination. For the first time, the knife in his pocket was burning in awareness. He knew it was there, the same one that Andromeda had brought. He tried not to think of it.

They waited a moment longer to ensure the way was clear, and then they pressed forward in a single file line. They kept low, as low as they could, until they reached the crates. The circle they were arranged in made it a little simple, too simple. Simon would take it; they each took a crate. Once broken into, it was just a matter of how much they could shove into their bags. They were hard on parts, but if all they could make it back with this time was thirium and small bits, that would be enough to keep them going just a second longer. Jericho could live on, and that was what brought Simon out here in the first place.

Once his bag was full, he stopped and turned. There were three crates popped open. His, Josh, North—but Markus was climbing the steps of the warehouse. Looking inquisitively at something. That curiosity hadn’t been anywhere in the plan. This was a quick grab-and-go operation. The longer they lingered out in the open, the more dangerous this would become. With time accounted for, Simon was sure they wouldn’t be alone much longer. But, when the crate Markus had opted to look at opened, Simon couldn’t find it himself to put a stop to it. There were _androids_ in the crate. Eyes closed and lined up like dolls, the three of them identical in every way. Right down to the part of their hair. Simon swallowed a gulp.

It was something magical to watch as Markus took the hand of each android and they woke up. Confused, unstable on their own legs. Simon watched one by one as the three of them were something, and then they were something different. Deviants, all at once, looking around in their situation and wondering where and how they’d come to be. In silence, they knew well enough. Just one look from Markus, out towards their theft operation. The androids knew, and Simon could almost feel the whisper of Jericho between them. This was something else.

Holy, if he had to pick a word.

He didn’t pick a word and instead met Markus when he finally joined them down in the circle of crates. Maybe he had meant to berate him at first, that his actions could have jeopardized the mission, or worse—them. Even if they made it back with nothing, making it back could ensure they could try again, and again, until they found success. But the words trickled down to thoughts instead, and Simon said nothing. They exchanged a look, a nod: understanding. The newly born deviants had run off, and the two of them returned to the work at hand.

It was all running smoothly until the inevitable happened. Footsteps. By the sound of it, it was a lone someone walking by. There were four of them, Simon reasoned, even as he turned to mention what he could hear. If it came to it, nobody would have to die for _one_ person. They could over power them, even if that thought made Simon a little sick. _Killing_ wasn’t something he really thought too much about, but it wasn’t something he was eager to start doing either. His thoughts whirled up until the footsteps were too close for there to be any sort of premeditation, and Simon was glad, then, that he had a group with him this time.

They had stared face to face with another android, and Markus had made the decision to grab the android to hide with them. Once the voices came, anyhow. They couldn’t risk their position being found, and this android was no deviant. The look in his eye before Markus had yanked him down to the ground and covered his mouth—he was going to shout for whatever human companions had been too far behind him for Simon to pick up. Before he lost himself in the anxiety of murder, which had been a stupid thought anyway. He was staring straight ahead, watching Markus handle the android, and thinking to himself how stupid he’d been to let himself get worked up in his own head. Again. And again, as he always did. Endangering them, their mission. He cursed himself and decided it was better to focus on the time at hand.

Markus was letting the android go. Trusting the next minute to go exactly as it needed to, as the android stood up and stumbled back out to his feet. He was free now, from Markus and from strings. There was a look in his eye where he considered hanging onto the one thing he’d ever really known—subordination—or take a stand, however passive it would have to be. That’s when Simon heard it.

“What are you doing over there, you damn thing?” One of the workers. A human, given the hostility.

The android didn’t respond.

“Well, get back over here! We have work to do.”

The android spared them once glance; “I’m on my way,” he said. “I apologize.”

Whatever the person said next trailed off as they headed the opposite direction. Away from them, and Markus let out a heavy sigh of relief. That had been close, and truthfully, he hadn’t had any certainty that it was going to work out just so, as it did. But it had, and they were safe for a moment longer.

“We need to get out of here,” Josh broke the silence sharply.

“Hold on a minute,” Markus held up his hand and peered around the side of the crates. They were gone, completely, and after a loaded second, a truck drove by.

“You cannot be serious—” Simon started, but Markus looked back towards them with such determination.

“If we can get out of here in a truck,” he started, but Josh just shook his head.

“They’ll find us faster than we can get away. Are you sure that’s a bright idea?”

“Why not?” North piqued up. “If it gets us the supplies we need, all we have to do is dump the thing before they trace us back to Jericho. Or are you doubting your secret location?” That, she directed at Simon.

He was silent for a long moment, thinking it over. There was a part of him that agreed with Josh. This was dangerous, stupid even. But there was a nagging part at the back of his head that looked at North and actually agreed with her. They could plan for this. There were always contingencies to deal with, even if the scale was larger here. This would mean a huge success for Jericho. Maybe they couldn’t save the androids there now, but they could save the ones to come in the future. They could even save each other.

“What do you want to do?” he asked Markus instead.

“I think it’s worth a shot. That, there,” he pointed straight ahead to a building not 500 feet away, “that has to be the check point. That’s the way the truck went, so whatever is in there, maybe gets us into a truck. I’ll go, I won’t risk the three of you for this.”

“What does that mean?” North snorted.

“It means if I fail, you three can still get out with what we have,” he was pulling his bag off his back as he spoke, setting it on the ground between him and North. “That way, this isn’t for nothing.”

“We don’t take any extra chances,” Simon spoke. “You get in and you get out. No heroics—if you fail, you’re still making it back to Jericho, deal?”

Markus stared at him for a long moment, overcome by the sudden authority in Simon’s voice. Something Simon had wanted to say a long time ago when he and Andromeda had been sitting across from each other, just like this. Andromeda would have disagreed; Markus nodded.

“I’ll make it back to Jericho, no matter what. Hopefully, we all leave in a truck,” he grinned. Somehow, that confidence sold his plan. Even Josh could only hang his head and hope for the best as Markus ran off.

It was only a moment later that he was regretting his decision not to speak up, but by then, it was too late. Markus was already across the lot. Josh looked up long enough to watch him find his way in through the back window, and that was that. The air between them, now, was apprehensive. They could do nothing but sit there and wait for Markus to return— _hope_ that he’d return. Even with that ridiculous promise he’d made that he’d come back, failure or not, there was still the chance that he’d be killed on sight, if anyone saw him. Androids may have been machines, but there was still nothing harder than to bring back one from the dead. Just like humans, they were finite.

“This was a bad idea,” Josh sighed. He slumped back into the crate and rubbed the back of his neck. “We should’ve just left with what we have.”

“We don’t have enough. We can’t just give up when we’re this close,” North argued immediately. “If we spend all of our time doing what’s _safe_ , we’ll never make any progress.”

“That doesn’t mean we should risk our lives at every turn. The more of us die, the farther away that dream gets.”

“Well,” North shrugged, a smirk growing up on her face. “We’ll all die anyway if we can’t get parts for repairs, now won’t we?”

“I don’t need you to tell me that—”

“Clearly you do, since you’re fine to just sit in the dark and wait for things to change—”

“You were sitting right along with us—”

“Will you too stop?” Simon hissed. “Please. Or, if you’re going to argue, do it quietly,” and he gestured down with his hands. “We can’t give away our position.”

The three of them exchanged looks briefly, then Simon shifted so that he was looking out, across the lot, and to that building instead of at them. If they wanted to carry on, he’d let them. For now, he was more concerned about Markus’s survival. It had been long enough, or maybe not. Simon was getting anxious, looking forward and through the large glass door to see any signs of movement. He watched long enough to see the lights in the building go out, and that caught his attention.

“I think he’s doing it,” Simon said, which killed the static behind him where Josh and North _had_ continued their argument. They stopped long enough to join Simon in his wonderment. Through the glass, they could see movement. Guards, maybe Markus—there was really no way to tell. But something was happening. That was more than could be said for what they believed was possible.

“I knew he could do it,” North prided herself on it.

“I just don’t like unnecessary risk,” and it sounded like an apology, on both of their ends. The argument had died where it was, and they continued watching on with Simon. In silence. Painful, horrendous silence, until the back window was sliding open again and Markus was slinking out of it with something in his hand.

They three stood as Markus jolted across the lot. He nearly toppled into them in his haste to get out of the open area, but he made it back to them and doubled over to rest on his knees. Catch breath that he didn’t need. When he stood again, he presented a dull blue key card like a trophy. Only silence met him as they stared on at the card. There was an unspoken celebration through smiles, through that spark in North’s eyes, the understanding when Josh nodded, and Simon who happily presented Markus with his own bag. He would be the one to carry it back, as he’d carried it in. They’d truly left no one behind.

“Now, we have to get out here—fast,” Markus nodded towards the warehouse. “They’ll be out here as soon as they figure out what happened.”

“Back this way,” North was the closest to the warehouse, and she led them around the back of the crates. There was a truck just at the entrance, waiting to be boarded.

Markus slotted himself in the driver’s seat while Simon checked around back, just to ensure that the truck was loaded. The doors were still open, but the truck was nearly full. Maybe it was waiting for a crate or two, still, but they’d managed to empty enough supplies to make up for it. Simon slammed the doors shut and locked the back of the truck, then he was joining them in the front. They all just barely managed to fit into the cab, but the cramped space was a small price to pay for the sound of the truck starting up. It was a straight shot through the exit, and the barrier wouldn’t hold them back. It would snap, and then it was back to Jericho—or as close as they could get before it was time to empty the truck and run.

“We’ll need help getting this all in,” Simon’s voice jolted along with the truck when it started up, dashing across the line of the warehouse. People were aware of them now—the security guards had called in for help, and now it was just getting out of here.

“I think we can worry about that when we make it out of here,” North was right.

Markus pressed his foot into the gas pedal, to the floor, and the rev of the engine was loud, freeing. A symphony of success, to say the least. The people who’d come out to stop them were no match, and by the time they got the authorities involved, they’d be long gone. They’d fine an empty truck with missing parts; the news stations would have something to talk about for the next twenty-four hours on top of it. Markus held nothing back; they broke through the barricade, the tires squealing, and he kept pushing forward. With the map in his head to guide him, he took a sharp turn immediately after clearing the warehouse lot. From there, they were home free.

They kept to the back roads, and once they were far enough away that they could reasonably sacrifice it, Markus let up on the speed to blend in better. Once the speed slowed, the adrenaline died, it was time to talk about a plan. Simon had already formulated half of one. They couldn’t bring the truck onto Jericho, nor could they bring it anywhere near Jericho. They had to keep a low profile, and there was no better place to park a CyberLife truck than next to an old CyberLife store. The very same one he and Allie had been caught raiding oh, so long ago.

“Take the next right, it’ll be a good place to stop,” Simon instructed. It was near the old construction site, the one that had never been restarted after the news of the murder. Never solved.

“What are you thinking?” Markus asked, but he did as he’d been told. He saw the open lot.

“I know the quickest way back to Jericho from here. We’ll keep the truck here. You three will need to try and stay hidden while I’m gone, but I’ll bring back enough androids to help us get this stuff into the ship. From there,” and he gestured behind them, the truck, “we’ll ditch the truck. There’s an old CyberLife store not a two-minute drive that way, and there’s no better place to leave this thing.”

“Impressive,” Markus commented.

“How do you know where all this crap is?” North asked; she was the first one out when Markus brought the truck to a stop in the open lot. She hit the ground with a grunt and took a moment to look around.

“I’ve been out here for a long time,” Simon reminded, then followed suit. Josh followed as Markus pushed out of the driver’s side, then circled the truck to meet with them.

“Give me your bags. I can take them back with me.”

“Won’t that just slow you down?” Markus inquired, but neither Josh nor North had any complaints about handing over their bags, so Markus figured his worry was misplaced. Especially considering the comment to his experience, and he had managed to get them through the warehouse well enough.

“I shouldn’t be longer than twenty minutes,” Simon told them. He paused for a moment to look at them before he turned and said nothing. He was moments, real moments from breaking down. Excitement, sadness—whatever else emotion he had been letting bubble up inside since that success. Their success. The first success that Jericho had seen in far too long, and now he was going back to tell them about it, to bring some of them out to share in that success by making sure it made it back to Jericho where it would help. He was—he was giddy, of it all. Even in the memory of what he’d lost before, Markus was proving to be something different. Maybe it wasn’t fair to have looked at something so terribly dangerous as a test, but if it was, well. Markus had passed with flying colors.

When Simon returned exactly on time, he had Bruce and Erin in tow. While it wasn’t a secret that all androids had strength beyond what a human their size would have, some were specifically designed to have strength. Bruce had been a construction android; Erin, a police android. They would be best for the task, especially when it was decided that they wanted to bring the crates, not just the content. Still, they’d have to move quickly, and their arrival back on the site jumped everyone into overdrive. Moving the crates would take time, but it would be done all at once. And then, when they returned for the final time, it was only Markus and Simon.

They dumped the truck at the CyberLife store and walked back through the city in silence. In the distance, they could hear the sirens. They’d find the truck, but they’d never find the missing supplies. What left was where they’d go from here and another topic that Simon had sorely been ignoring since he watched it happen. He didn’t bring it up until they’d made it back into Jericho, back into the main room where the androids were rummaging through the things. The atmosphere was lively, for once, even if the word sounded strange in his head. Lively.

“Markus,” Simon stopped him from walking off too quickly.

Markus hummed in reply, turned his attention to Simon who was nervously rubbing his arm.

“What you did back there—how did you do it?”

“What do you mean?” they walked in together, and it all became clear. Those three androids that Markus had somehow woken up were there, among the rest of the androids. Carter who happily announced they’d received a warm welcome.

“I’m not sure,” Markus admitted with a shrug. “I just had this feeling, and when I saw them, I knew I couldn’t leave them there. If it were up to me, I wouldn’t let another android go without freedom, but I know it’s not that easy.”

Simon shook his head, “Not so far, but I’ve never seen an android with the ability to just—do that,” he gestured forward. “You _turned_ them deviant. Everything I’ve seen, everything I’ve known,” _experienced,_ but he bit that back, “has shown they have to go through something. You’ve just woken them up like that.”

“I wish I could explain it.”

“How do we know they’ll believe in our plight the way that the rest of them do?” Simon looked between Markus and the rest of the open room. “You don’t know their stories; not like I do. But they’ve all experienced something horrible, and that’s what led us here. If anyone inside of Jericho doesn’t believe—”

“We would cast them out?” Markus raised an eyebrow.

“No, that’s not what I—” but Simon stopped himself. That must have been exactly what he was suggesting in a round-about way. “I just wouldn’t want to put this at risk.”

“I understand. Hopefully, it won’t come to that. We should probably go on and join the festivities though, we may never get that chance again,” Markus laughed.

“Something happening that I should know about?”

“Maybe,” Markus nodded, already walking off. “Maybe.”

 

November 8th, 2038-

It was snowing outside. Simon could see it through an old crack in the hull, and that was about as close as he’d let himself get to the outside world until the previous night. The liveliness of the win was still going strong, and Simon had had to leave it for a long moment. Enough to shut down and rearrange his head space once again. Now, mid-afternoon, there was a particularly angry set of footsteps after him from his precarious little hiding spot. North had to haul herself up and over a fallen beam before she could finally reach Simon, and she had that amused little smile on her face, brows pointed down, though, to attest that faked annoyance. She’d never been truly annoyed at Simon, not really. Not yet.

“If you want to hide, you really should shut down.”

“It’s snowing,” he said, and pointed through the crack. That peaked North’s interest. She moved closer, shuffling around Simon to look through the split metal, then smiled.

“It won’t stick.”

“No, but it’s pretty.”

North laughed through her nose, “you’re hopeless.” To which Simon could only agree. North watched the snow for a moment before pulling back to look at Simon, directly.

“Markus wanted to talk to us somewhere. Figured you’d want to be present. Maybe this is even a good time to get Jericho set up for this kind of thing.”

“What kind of thing?” Simon asked after her. She was working her way back over the beam, gesturing for Simon to follow.

“Markus has some big plans. He won’t tell us until we’re all there—the three of us. He thinks we make a good team, or something. Though, I think we could do without Josh,” a snort.

“He’ll keep us in line,” Simon’s weak argument; he followed up and over the beam, then walked just a step behind North through the hall.

“Yeah, sure. Close enough. Point being, Markus _believes_ in this. Us. A cause. That we could do something.”

“You sound convinced.”

“I am.”

Simon watched after her for a moment before he double-timed after her. She sounded almost wistful about the situation. Markus was the first android she’d seen march in here with a will and a way. Understanding of the situation they were in and yet, still, somehow ready to throw everything away if it meant that they could buy their freedom. Simon didn’t know if that was possible, but he’d lost his fight before he’d ever met North. She knew that, even if she didn’t understand him. His story. Nobody _knew_ his story. But she did know Markus. It had only been a day, but she knew that he was willing to sacrifice, willing to fight. Those were the only traits she cared about.

“Anyway, we need like, a meeting room, I guess. A place where we can really put our heads together and plan.”

“I suppose,” Simon mulled it over. “What exactly are we planning, though?”

“A revolution,” North beamed over her shoulder.

Simon didn’t comment and followed on in silence. There was a part of the ship separated from the room they always kept to. A larger area, one that had probably been the center of the ship when she ran in the water. But, now, it was comprised of old crates, shelves, and dust. Markus and Josh were waiting for them up the stairs, in a room with glass windows and chairs that probably could stand to be replaced. A lot of it could stand to be replaced, if Markus really wanted to make this the center point for something. They’d need a way to see what was going on in the outside world too. Television, a tablet—something. More than the scattered electric magazines, as rarely as they could update.

Markus brightened up when Simon and North stepped into the room, smiled at them both when North announced that she’d finally found their AWOL mediator. Still, they were welcomed. The seats proved too broken to use, so they stood instead, around in a circle with Markus at the head. He clearly had something to say, and now was his time to say it. Whatever plan he’d come up with would be one for the books, judging by the shimmer behind his eyes.

“This is going to sound crazy,” he started, and Josh was immediate set with doubt. Markus continued: “but I think we need to do something drastic. Clearly, sitting around isn’t going to help. I think the best way to start is with something big.”

Something big.

“What do you mean, exactly?” Simon asked. He folded his arms and shifted his weight from one foot to another.

“Nobody can agree with us unless they know about us. Maybe it’s a big first step, but if we could somehow manage to jump start _human_ sympathy, maybe get our message out to other androids—it’d help.”

“I agree,” North said. “The more people on our side, the better, but that still doesn’t explain what you mean to do.” Clearly, he truly had spoken to no one about this before gathering. Now, he seemed hesitant to reveal his plan, like they’d disagree so heavily he’d find himself out on the street, or something.

“A broadcast,” he finally managed. “From the Stratford tower—you know about it?”

“Are you suggesting we break into the Stratford Tower, hijack a broadcast, and somehow use that to get a message out?” Josh was the first to speak up, and he definitely disagreed. “That’s horrendously dangerous—we could die. And who’s doing this? Us? Since we’re the ones you called in?”

“I know it sounds like a lot, but if we break it down—”

“And get ourselves killed in the process? How would you even get in the front door?”

Markus pointed to the empty spot on his temple. “I’d walk right through it.”

Stunned into silence. Markus was a unique model, nobody would recognize him the same way they would recognize the rest of them, but that in itself would make it easier to blend in. Simon had seen his own face everywhere, and it was no doubt the same for North and Josh. What it sounded like was a covert operation. Risky, but one that would need all of them. Markus, walking through the front door, would somehow play it up as the face of their revolution. If that’s really what this was going to be.

“This is going to take planning,” Simon said, but he was truly considering it. This would get their story out there, their cause, garner sympathy, raise awareness.

“I say we just go for it,” North shrugged. “We need to make a statement, we can start that now.”

“No,” Markus disagreed immediately. “The slower and steadier we take this, the better. My plan is to get people on our side, if we can, not turn them away. We just have to see how this goes before we can figure anything more out. But I think it’s a start.”

“A start, but a bad idea,” Josh shook his head. He put his head in his hand and sighed, mulling the situation over. “If we can plan this right—I’m in.”

“As am I,” Simon agreed, then looked to North.

“You’d be lost without me, of course I’m in.”

“Then, it’s decided.”

Planning was the first stage, which started with dragging a table up somewhere that they could get working on it. Then, a pencil. Several, all colored, but it worked out for the best when Markus took them to the paper they’d salvaged from the new CyberLife crates and drew the perfect recreation of the Stratford Tower. A visualization, then the starts of a plan. Somewhere, they would need to retrieve clothing. Markus would have to fit in as a human, which would be easy with his jack of LED. The rest of them: they didn’t have any androids at Jericho with the clothes to offer, so they’d have to do the next best thing. It sounded like a trip to the CyberLife store to pull clothing out of storage. Either way, someone was breaking into a real store, and someone was breaking into an android store.

From there, they’d need to figure out what everyone was doing, but Markus wanted to focus on the clothing first. It made sense. Except that Simon wanted nothing more to do with that CyberLife store than he had that day. Being that close to it—thinking of it—that was enough. That was more than he needed. But, for the sake of the cause, what he wanted didn’t so much matter. He’d have to pull it together if they were going to make it anywhere. It wouldn’t make sense for anyone but Markus to go find the clothes that Markus was going to wear, and the only one of them that had any real experience wearing clothes outside of their android-wear was Josh. It was decided without further fanfare, and Simon bit his tongue on it. He’d be with North, at least, which would lessen the blow. He knew the way, too. He knew how to get into the building. With the knowledge Allie had left him, he’d be able to get in without tripping the alarm. That didn’t mean he wasn’t nervous. His teeth were near chattering when he met North outside of Jericho.

Since Markus’s arrival, Bruce had been hard at work fixing something up for them, and the new bridge had been working out nicely. North was at the other hand, waiting. They’d abandoned everything at this point that they’d worked for, and Simon had abandoned his hat. He hadn’t pressed for North to cover up her LED either. If they were caught, hiding the LED wouldn’t matter. To the time of night, they’d waited to do this, there wouldn’t be any people to worry about either.

“Lead the way,” North offered, but Simon didn’t take to walking far ahead of her. Instead, they walked side by side down the first alley, the same direction he’d been led out his very first run. North gave him a look; she didn’t even have to voice her question.

“We look more natural if we walk together.”

“Makes sense. Besides,” she nudged into his arm, “you look like you want to talk about something.”

“Maybe,” he was quiet. Gave himself away immediately with how he glanced off to the side.

“Come on, spill. I won’t press, but I know you, too.”

Too well, and Simon sighed. There was the lightest bit of laughter behind it, though. “I’ve just lost so much, this is all a lot, all at once.”

“Yeah, maybe,” she shrugged. “It’s what we need, though. The longer we take to make a stand, the harder it’s going to be to win what we deserve.”

“Freedom, hm? A world where we can walk freely,” he’d heard that dream somewhere before.

“It sounds impossible, doesn’t it?” North almost laughed. “Come on, it can’t be that crazy. Sure, you had more freedom than I’ve ever seen, even if it was just being able to walk somewhere. I was holed up in that fucking, disgusting place—” she had to stop to suck in a breath, a swallow of cold air. “Anyway. You’ve never told anyone anything about you, so. Can’t blame a girl for trying.”

“No, it’s just that,” and he trailed off.

“Yeah,” North nodded, and they walked on a little while longer in silence. Simon remembered the way like clockwork.

“Hey, Simon,” North stopped him once more. Right across the street was the CyberLife store. “You look bad.”

“Well, I don’t feel great.”

North looked at the store, then back to Simon. She shook her head and grabbed him by the arm, yanking him back far enough that he landed against the wall of the building behind them, then standing beside him with her foot kicked up.

“What’s wrong? I need you at your best for this to work, unless you want some glass to get broken. They’ll call the cops on us in a second. So, let’s work it out.”

“I haven’t been to this place in—it’s been so long,” almost like he couldn’t remember how long. Redacted dates, lost time. It’d been so long. “Last time was just,” he shook his head, rubbing his fingers into his chest.

“It was bad, I can gather that. Whatever happened, it’s not going to happen now. We’re going to get in and get out without problem. You know we can do that.”

“What if we can’t?” Simon looked at her.

“As long as one of us makes it back, then we’ve succeeded, right?” she looked at him with such a dead-set seriousness that he was almost. Afraid. Afraid of her determination. Jealous of it, even. Frozen where he stood in remembrance of when only one of them making it back became success, because he’d taken up a mantle that no one else, at the time, had been able to. This time was different. If he didn’t make it back, they had Markus. If he didn’t make it back—

“Simon,” North’s voice was sharp. Her eyes, dangerous. “It’s not personal, you know that, right? You’ve been my support since I got here, you’ve been holding Jericho together with—with hopes and wishes, it feels like,” she even laughed. “But, this mission. The cause, this thing that Markus is leading us on. This is what matters.”

“I know,” he found the strength to reach out and put his hand on her shoulder. “I know. The world where we can walk freely. I want that more than you know,” more than he felt safe telling. “That doesn’t mean I want to miss it, or that I want to lose _more_ of you,” and he said you so pointedly that North knew what he meant. That he looked at her when he said it and squeezed her shoulder.

“Then let’s make sure that we don’t, but at the end of the day.”

“The mission is more important, I get it,” he nodded. North smiled. As long as one of them made it to that new world, that was a success. That was the mindset they had to work with, and that’s what would keep them alive.

Simon pressed forward with renewed vigor. The door was around back, and though the security system was updated, Simon could work with it. When the door opened, it was silent—no mysterious click that would be their undoing. North went on, Simon stayed behind to watch, to call if anything went wrong. Nothing did—it was those witching hours where there would be not a soul out on the run. So, when North reappeared with a bag stuffed full of uniforms, they knew they were in the clear. The run back was easy, clear, and how they could look like a pair who’d come home late from shopping. The best disguise, the easiest disguise, and they even made it back before Markus and Simon had.

“I’ll stash these away,” North still had the bag, so it made sense. “You go and get some rest. Work out some of those thoughts that the rest of us just aren’t good enough to hear.”

“North, that’s not what—”

“I know, I know!” she was already walking away, and she was laughing. So full of life, the feeling of the success rolling through her veins. “Just get some rest. Consider it insurance. I’ll be around as long as I need to so I can hear that story of yours.”

If that’s what it took.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this all in one sitting. Not even joking.   
> [CyberShips Tower, My Discord](https://discord.gg/T7sW7DB)  
> [Check Out My Tumblr If You Want To See More](https://tantumuna.tumblr.com)  
> 


	28. Chapter 28

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GUESS WHO GRADUATED COLLEGE  
> WHICH MEANS I FINISHED THIS CHAPTER!!!!!
> 
> We're looking at around 35 or so total chapters, but I haven't actually countered correctly. I also severely underestimated the length of this chapter, so I have to add some more in the for drama's sake. But uh. Thanks for being patient with me guys! I have to start job hunting now, and we're planning a move. So, still stressful, but look at me! Writing! 
> 
> Hope you guys enjoy a trip to Stratford :)

November 9th, 2038-

Simon was less than well rested when time game to exist stasis mode. At some point, duty overtook his incessant need to rest, which was starting to make known on his face. Persistently tired. Not a good look, but Simon was still dragging himself out of his makeshift be. It was a slow movement, standing and feeling the cracks in his joints. He was long past an official check-up, so to say. Given enough prompting, he could probably work some of it himself, which gave more insight than he really wanted into why Allie was constantly picking at her own insides. More thoughts about Allie than he wanted. Just another thing to pull along with him as he left his room—Jericho was already livening up with the sounds of footsteps and talking. Simon went the opposite direction, to the other part of the ship where they had decided best to set up their planning.

The room overhanging, surrounded by glass, had seen some changes since Simon had stepped in there. It was filled with their winnings from the night prior, a rather sad looking table where they could at least attempt to plan things out, and a mismatched set of chairs. Markus and North were sitting across from each other, seemingly enjoying some lively conversation, the way that North was beaming. Her hair was loose, out of the ponytail she normally kept it in, and something about the scene constricted up in Simon’s chest. But he ignored it in turn for entering the room, an unasked question answered when he was met with the scene of Josh down on his hands and knees, obviously fiddling with something. The door shut behind Simon and eyes turned to meet.

“We would’ve helped,” North immediately jumped to defense, “but he swore he didn’t want us touching anything.”

“I did not say that,” Josh huffed out as he dropped back to sit on the floor. Then, he looked at Simon. “I said that I have more experience with this, so if I _needed_ help, I’d ask.”

“Same thing.”

“It is not.”

“What are you even working on?” Simon cut in before their argument could begin, continue—whatever it was doing.

Josh answered in kind. He and Markus had gone on a sort of shopping spree, so to say, and acquired quite a rather dashing suit. Markus promised he’d show it off later, but it was all a part of some detailed plan they’d need to discuss before actually attempting it. There’d be no practice runs. While they were out, though, they couldn’t help themselves. The store had had multiple departments in it, as some one-stop quickie shop of high-end luxury goods. If they were going to walk out with a suit that probably cost as much as an android did, why not also walk out with something that could connect them to the outside world and jump start their little thing. Josh demonstrated by turning it on.

There was something ironically thrilling about watching the television click on to the local news station, where the first shot was the CyberLife store that Simon and North had broken into. The scene had left local law enforcement confused, apparently. It hadn’t been a big enough ploy to call out the big guns, but the detective on scene was someone that Simon painfully— _painfully_ —recognized. He probably had no business speaking with the news about an ongoing case, but he obviously didn’t _care_. The case was small enough anyway.

“Either it’s some lowlife using brains to steal android crap, or it was an android,” he folded his arms. “My money’s on the android.”

The segment furled out there, back to the reporter and back off to something else; that was where Josh turned it off and looked back over at Simon. He was holding himself together, fists curled up tight in the pockets of his jacket. He had to hold himself together.

“Well, that aside,” Josh shrugged, “I think it’ll be a good tool.”

“Where did you even find this type of experience?” Markus asked. The look in his eyes was something like gears turning.

“Lackluster IT department?” a poor joke, but Josh still laughed to himself. “No, I guess it’s just in the programming. I’ve always been able to work with computers. Not anything special, but enough to troubleshoot.”

Markus hummed in response and leaned onto the table. “That makes the hijacking part easier.” Like any of it would be easy.

Josh stared at him for a moment, but any argument he might have had died before he spoke. That was what they’d come together to talk about anyway, so there was no use trying to press the danger of the situation. It would just make things more difficult to know that one of them was against the plan. Josh thought himself rather open minded, so it would be better to listen to what Markus had to say.

“Well,” he started, instead, “I can get this hung up later. I suppose it would be best to start discussing that plan of yours.”

Markus agreed.

“Come and join us, Simon,” North waved him over. “Or are you just going to stand in the doorway all morning?”

“Right, sorry,” he muttered, shaking his head and crossing the floor. He sat down at the table, beside North, and kept his hands in his pocket.

Markus, of the four of them, was the only android missing an LED. The suit was for him, and the rest of his plan laid out accordingly. It might have been easier to find a way up through the back, where they could go undetected, but they were limited in what android uniforms had been at the CyberLife store. They had two maintenance uniforms and a security uniform. From there, the complexity just rose.

It was just after lunch hour that they arrived at Stratford Tower. There was something odd about being able to walk freely under the disguise of an android uniform, especially where Simon hadn’t worn one in years. It was uncomfortably tight in all the wrong places, stiff and starchy. But he hadn’t had to hide his LED. He hadn’t been able to react to stares. Arrival at Stratford Tower made it easier, because they were just accessories here, able to fade into the background. The front door wasn’t an option, but they knew that, so Markus parted with them across the street. He would head through the front, looking nothing short of the attractive businessman, and be unrecognized. He had that advantage, he’d told them—he was a unique model. He hadn’t elaborated further, but it led them to their position now.

Simon took North and Josh around the side of the building, where there were none too subtle signs about an android entrance, for employees. If they could really be called employees; _slaves_ was a more apt description, given that employee usually meant some type of compensation. But that’s what they were fighting for in this instance. No more hiding in Jericho, no more slaving away at the whims of the humans. Maybe even living as people do—but the dream was aside. First, there was work. And the back entrance was easy. Unguarded, desolate, and locked. Not as easy as they had hoped, but the three of them looked the part well enough.

Maintenance.

While North and Simon stood watch, Josh bent a knee and took to fiddling with the door. It was electronically coded so that only androids registered to the building would be able to enter. The technology was overly simple for the time, and Josh had the security code broken within minutes. The door opened for them in turn, after that, as if nothing had ever been wrong. Phase one was complete, but Simon had to stop and check the time. Their job had been simpler, but Markus may have had a harder time getting in. He didn’t _work_ at Stratford, and he certainly didn’t have any appointments or interviews that would allow him easy access. Then, came the pressing question.

“What floor did we need to go to again?” North almost snorted, looking ahead of them. Past the second door was stairs.

“Forty-seven,” Simon replied, exasperated.

Even if Markus hadn’t gotten in yet, he’d have time. They had to _walk_ to floor forty-seven, and in his wonderful human-disguise, Markus would get to ride an elevator. There had to be service elevators somewhere, especially given the issue now that Simon was dressed in the attire of a JB300; they didn’t tend to wander freely, as they were highly specialized androids. The broadcast room, their ultimate goal, was on the top floor. A service elevator would be _so_ helpful, but he didn’t press the issue out loud. Instead, he ushered North and Josh through the doors to the stairs, and up they went.

Stratford Tower was a relatively new building, but given its size, budget cuts had to be made somewhere. Those budget cuts were made in all the places Simon expected—in the back where the androids would do most of their working. The locks on the doors out into the building itself were not electric, but manual locks. Which should have made it easier, but lock picking wasn’t quite the art that it used to be. Short of kicking down the door at floor forty-seven, there would be no quick way to get through this. Not without waiting for Markus and hoping that everything lined up perfectly that he could let them in, but that was hoping for an expecting a lot. Instead, Simon plucked a pin from the inside of his shirt cuff and set to work.

“You came prepared,” like she was _almost_ impressed. She was.

“Habit,” Simon replied through gritted teeth. It wasn’t necessarily a pin for something like this. It was a repair tool, one that he’d snatched up from Allie’s old tool belt. Because it’s what she used to pop herself open and work on her joints. It’s what Simon used to do the same. The tinkering—that was the habit. Not lock picking, but no one pressed the issue. Jericho had a lot of closed doors.

“We need a plan for when we get in there,” Josh leaned up against the wall. “If we just go in and start wandering, people will know something’s up.”

“You’re looking for the server room. If you can find Markus, that’s all the better, but I can take care of him. Once you’re in the server room—”

“That much I think we know,” North folded her arms, “I think we need to know how to get there.”

Simon rolled his eyes, plucked a little to the left, and listened for the next click in the lock. “Patience,” almost a scolding. It felt so familiar he had to stop himself, change his tone, and start again: “It’s an important room, so think distraction. There will be probably be people around, and the less eyes for this, the better.”

“Distraction,” North repeated, like she was mulling it over.

“Blend in, cause a distraction. Two exactly opposite things that should make this as easy as possible,” Simon pulled back when the door clicked open. Not enough that anyone would notice, but enough.

“What are you going to do?” Josh asked. He refitted the cap on his head and regarded Simon as he answered.

“I’m going to see if there’s a way up from in here. The stairs don’t go that high, but—” and he pointed up, “there has to be a way, there’s reconstruction going on.

“If all of us climb out the way of the plan, it’ll be too easy to spot us,” he continued. “Besides, with Markus dressed up like a human, it’ll be easier to use an inside route.”

“I’m sure the elevators are wired, though, like the door. Maybe I should—” Josh tried, but Simon shook his head, laughing.

“That uniform doesn’t fit me, remember?”

Josh relented.

“I’ll find a way. Just don’t go blaring in before we get up there.”

“Unless you’re late,” North interrupted. “What I said still stands—this mission is more important than any of us. If we have to wait—”

“Thirty minutes, that’s all I’ll ask,” Simon’s smile was soft. Almost broken. “If we’ve somehow gotten ourselves arrested in that time, you’re free to carry on the plan. I don’t think it’ll come to that.” And, in not so many words, just how much he didn’t need to be reminded of their unimportance. She meant well, he knew she did. She was right, too. The mission was more important than any single android that might be lost in the fight. That didn’t make it an easy thing to hear.

“Right,” and in her meekness, her quietness, an apology.

Simon stepped to the side to let them both head out into the building, where playing android would be key to their success. Neutral faces, no wayward glances, no prolonged staring. It was like setting everything back to factory, allowing their base programming to just take over. One blink every two seconds, relaxed muscles unless over-ridden. It felt very _wrong_ , but they had a job to do. From the door, just off to the side, there was an abandoned service cart that could only mean one thing. Markus was already here, waiting, and still helping. Even as his job now was to appear as inconspicuous as possible, he would do what he could. North slung her bag on top of the cart, perfectly coded to the colors they were wearing—blindingly bright blue and yellow-yellow, a yellow much more intense than it needed to be. But they worked with what they had.

There was a connecting hall between them and the server room where, just as Simon had predicted, there were people. Their uniforms looked much the same, though different colors. Maintenance, but of a human variety. Jobs were baseless without some type of human task master to ensure the androids were in top working condition and still following orders. That, and there were certain things that companies preferred androids not work with. Servers, being a host of more information these days than anyone really knew what to do with, were one of those things.

For once, it was a positive just how normal it was for androids to stand deathly still off to the side in off moments, so even as Josh stepped off with the cart, no one paid mind as North pressed up against a wall with her hands hanging dead at her sides and head ducked down just enough that the bill of her hat obscured most of her face. Easier to glance to the side, easier to look around and mull over their options. Cause a distraction while still blending in. Just down the hall was a vending machine; North couldn’t control the quirk of a smile on her lips as she made her way over to it, and there was Markus, sat up on a chair with his legs crossed and a magazine in his hands. They exchanged a glance before North put her hand up to the machine.

Within seconds, the machine short circuited. Markus set aside his magazine and the play had begun. There was a mental apology, one North barely had time to register before suddenly Markus was pushing her at the shoulders, away from the machine with a scowl on his face.

“These useless androids!” he shouted; Josh watched as the maintenance men were alerted immediately. “How am I supposed to get something to drink if they can’t even fix the machine?” Just as humans did, make a scene. North followed suit and pulled out a litany of apologies, but Markus kept going until the men had decided it was time to intervene. It was timely, and North was shoved to the side and forgotten about—just as any android would have been.

“This machine is always breaking,” one of the men grumbled. The other tended to Markus, attempting to calm him down while sparing no obscenities towards the machine and North’s failed _attempt_ to fix it. It was just the moment she needed to slip back towards Josh, who was already working the door to the Server Room open. The shouting eventually subsided, and they were on the other side of the door.

North paid special mind to lock the door behind them, but even with that, they would only have so much time before suspicion arose. One way or another, the door would be open again, and hopefully they were out and up before that time came. They had their tasks, so North pulled open one of the Servers while Josh took the bag and hurried to the window. He and Markus had heisted a bit more than just a nice suit and an old television to hardwire, and it was all leaning up to this moment. After the Server was broken into, there would be no leaving the room without attracting attention. The only way up now—was out. The window, specifically. And Josh set to cutting.

Meanwhile, Simon straightened the collar on his uniform before he stepped out into the main of the floor. Most people didn’t pay much attention to androids, and it paid well in a moment where Simon knew his particular face had never been printed out on a JB300 unit. It didn’t matter. They were accessories that blended into the background, and even as he passed by a news caster, the woman barely paid him a second glance. It was familiar in its coldness, but he folded up one of his hands in a fist instead of reacting and went forward. He had to find Markus as fast as he could and keep to a straight line, like he knew exactly where he was going.

He’d heard the commotion over the vending machine, and it acted as the only guide. He’d have half a mind to think that Markus would’ve moved, but he was sitting in the chair just to the side of the now fixed machine, a drink in hand that he had no way of consuming. It looked the part, though, sitting there with the drink and a magazine, reading casually like he was waiting for some meeting, some screen time. Something. Something, something, and Simon had to stop and look for a moment. All of it worked in the act, an android with a sudden jolt. The spin of his LED and Markus was looking up from his magazine. A scowl broke forth on his face; there were humans near, watching the strange encounter. Simon missed his cue.

“What are you staring at?” Markus barked. There was something there that made Simon curl his fist a little tighter, but he jumped back into role immediately.

“I apologize, Sir,” he even bowed forward, just enough to make it noticeable. “I have been sent to retrieve you for the inspection.”

“It’s about time, I’ve been waiting forever,” Markus rose. He left the magazine and the drink on the side table.

Once normality had been reset, the humans stopped paying attention. Simon could _feel_ their eyes drift elsewhere as he and Markus walked back through the halls, back to the stairs. The fire escape. One more glance to be sure they were undetected before they ducked out and let the door close—quietly, quiet enough that nobody would look to the sound. Which left the final problem, one that Simon had only been able to solve partly in the meantime.

“I’ve found a service elevator,” he said, but then shook his head. “I can’t get it to activate.”

“Ah, is it coded like everything else?” Markus flexed his hand. He could give it a go, but he was sure that it would be like everything else in the building that had required Josh’s particular set of skills. He was cursing himself now for not changing the roles, because surely Josh could’ve played a businessman too.

“Unfortunately.”

He thought a bit longer on it, leaning up against the wall. There was only one option.

“There was a maintenance android in the cafeteria area, did you see?”

Simon nodded.

“Just wait here, okay?” he pressed his hand into Simon’s shoulder. “I know we already made the exit, but it’ll be fine. Just—I’ll be back.”

Simon trusted that.

Markus ducked back out into the building with a quick step to the side, back into the hall area and away from the open—the humans. He’d been out there long enough, that’s where the scene had been, it would be best to keep the profile low. The cafeteria, however, he’d stepped through it once just to get an idea of his bearings. No one had even looked up the first time he’d come through, and it was no different the second time. Even the android was still diligently working off in the corner, alone and unnoticed. In situations like these, the feeling was nearly mutual. Androids went unnoticed, and lest they were spoken to, androids tended not to notice the humans. It was all a part of the coding. Be seen but not heard. The idea of it boiled at the base of Markus’ skull, especially when he approached the android, and he didn’t even jolt. Wasn’t even surprised when a hand curled around his wrist.

In the cafeteria, with so many people, he had to be quick. Just the briefest of touches and the android was dropping his tools and looking squarely at Markus, a wide look in his eye. Something had just fallen into place and clicked in every way where things hadn’t before. The missing piece of information, the missing piece of code—and all of the sudden, the android understood what it meant when Markus spoke up.

“Something’s broken. Go fix it,” he said, a bit too much bite in his voice. But it read clearer in the mind, where he was all but begging the android to help them. Their time was ticking away. The android understood and followed Markus out.

Still, nobody had looked up from their food, their work, themselves.

Markus lead the other android out, through the stairs, almost as quickly as he’d left. Simon was standing exactly where he’d been, staring forward. He lit up, even the eye that never quite opened all the way, when Markus returned with the android. Just through that quick touch, the android had understood the plan. Enough of it to help them with the next step, at least, as he pointed off down the hallway of floor forty-seven. It led straight to the service elevator that Simon had found, but it required, of course, the magic touch.

“I have to return to my post,” the android said, but he held open the door as Markus and Simon shuffled inside. The rest went unspoken, that he couldn’t afford what would happen if he turned up missing without having an option.

“Come to Jericho,” Markus offered. “The minute you can slip away—there are others here I’ve helped.”

The android stared on for a moment. Only in that moment had he realized what Jericho was, the flashes that had come with Markus’ touch. Jericho and how to find it. Then, he nodded and slipped over his security card.

“I’ll be there if I can,” noncommittal. Fear. Even if Markus didn’t, Simon understood how difficult that first step was. Everyday seemed like a new first step.

“I look forward to it.”

The door of the elevator closed, with a warning that they’d have to pry it open when they reached their floor. But that part was taken care of. Hopefully, as long as they weren’t too far ahead of schedule. It was just a waiting game, once the elevator started moving. They had to the top floor, then for the door to be opened. Which led to the question to shatter the silence between them:

“What do you think of North?” Markus asked. A loaded question that kept the silence just a moment as Simon’s mind whirred together some sort of answer.

“I think she’s dependable,” was the best he came up with. Markus nearly laughed.

“I bet you say that about everyone. Very dependable of Josh to help us with the hacking today,” Markus put on his best impression of Simon’s voice, then broke off into static laughter. Simon cracked the barest bit of smile but didn’t say anything more.

“Have you been in Jericho for a long time…?” Markus quieted relatively quickly. Simon was—standoffish, at the best of times. Something always curled up tight: his arms, his fists, glancing off in some other direction like eye contact was just too much. It reminded him something too much of _loss_ , and there were only so many questions to be asked without being so direct. This wasn’t the place for that.

“You could say that,” Simon replied, and the elevator came to a halt.

There wasn’t any time to ask what that meant, as seconds later the elevator door was flying open. North and Josh were on the other side, Josh stepping away from where he’d pulled open the door. Simon ducked out first, almost in a hurry, and Markus followed.

“See you didn’t need those thirty minutes,” North commented, and she gave Simon an irked look. He’d just pushed on past them and hadn’t said anything, almost like he was running. Markus was standing, still in the elevator, looking equally dumbfounded to North’s annoyance. Whatever question he went unasked and unanswered as he was ushered out, and Josh shut the door. Without preamble, they were onto the next phase of the plan. From here, things were dicey. There was no real way to know what they would face when they made it through the door. There could be security, they could be rushed, destroyed, apprehended. For it to end here, before they’d even really begun, would be too much.

For Simon, where he’d seen this same path begin with Andromeda, again with his own attempts, and now with Markus—to watch it all end before they’d found that second step, for the first time. He sucked in a breath as they waited for Josh to work the lock. Something rang forward as he waited, remembering how North, in earnest, had been brave enough to voice what Simon had never wanted to admit he believed. As long as one of them made it out of here—and it wasn’t just between him and her. Between the four of them. As long as one of them made it out of this tower, things would be fine. It might have relieved the stress if Simon believed whole heartedly that they could each carry out the dream in equal measure. Through two years of failure, he knew better than to make that assumption. It would be a selfish one, at least.

On the other side of the door was a short corridor, turned at 90 degrees, and another door at the end of it. That was their goal, and whatever was beyond it. They made quick work of the corridor and filed through the door one by one. Simon carried up the rear to ensure the door closed without a sound, and then he was pressed up to the wall with the rest of him. Markus at his side, North and Josh an arm’s length away. Even from there, voices carried through the dead air. Just chatting, an idle conversation. Mindless to what would be taking place. When Markus turned the corner, his quick glance confirmed it. There were two guards, one sitting at a desk, and one leaning over it. Before Markus could even open his mouth—

“We can’t kill anyone,” Josh said, a hurried whisper.

_How might we get passed them,_ Markus might have said, but instead he huffed and glanced between Josh and North. North, who rolled her eyes and almost sneered.

“Our cause is more important than even us, so what’s two guards compare?” And, she had a point. He turned to Simon.

“What do you want to do, Markus?” Simon asked. Helpful.

Markus mulled over his options for a moment before reaching across the small hall, hand outstretched. North responded in kind and pressed a gun into his hand. The only one they had, a lucky shot in the dark, so to say, that it even still worked. But, it did. For now. North even smiled as Markus took it, that he had a plan in mind much like her own. The gun would do well enough as a scare, too.

“Wait here,” he said, and turned the corner after tucking the gun underneath his coat. He still looked the part, and when he rounded the corner, the guards jolted in a sudden move to look like they weren’t just chatting. Only a moment later did the one at the desk realize that Markus was nobody he’d ever recognized.

“Hey—who are you?” he moved to stand, and that was when Markus drew the gun. In one quick flash, he’d raised it to eye level. The guard froze midair, half stood, hands thrown up in the air. The other guard followed suit.

Markus didn’t so much speak a word as he gestured to the side—the guards followed the movement. Eyes trained on the gun like any slip up could spell their last breath; the air was thick, but they moved against the wall with their backs to Markus. Just as he’d showed for. Then, the moment of truth. Markus lowered the gun and still managed to take them both out, quickly and safely with a jab of his hand. In turn, they collapsed, and he turned back towards the door. With the sudden silence, they’d followed out without prompting, and the look North gave was equal in anger and something proud. Almost like she was impressed, but still unhappy about the route taken. Still, the guards were put out and still breathing—Simon helped North hide them off behind the desk. Then, the next door. To the Broadcast Room.

North was the last to reach the door, catching up with a half jog with two new additions to their plan—the guns the guards had. She kept one and handed the other off to Josh, who was closest to the door. Simon, on the other hand, seemed to be keeping close behind Markus. Almost typical, but without really _knowing_ , North would never judge his fear. Maybe she’d be annoyed with it, with his inaction, like she had been since the start. But there was nothing more than that.

The four of them, collectively, took one deep breath before Markus pressed the button on the wall. Call for access. There was a beat after the tone, one longer, and North moved the same second the door finally slid open. Josh to her left, they stepped into the room—and the plan was a go.

“Keep your hands where I can see them!” North’s voice echoed out.

Simon went forward as North and Josh pushed to the side, the men gathered around the command area stunned into silence and cooperation with the guns in their face. Markus took his gun-for-show and headed out farther into the rooms, where there were androids. JB300s. Security androids. And no alarm. Simon had barely gotten his hands on the module before there was a sudden commotion behind him—he and Markus both whipped around to watch as Josh was shoved to the side. North hit the ground as a man shoved past her. The fear was apparent on his face, the sweat dripping down and the stains on his shirt. But he was running. Out the open door and into the hallway; instinct brought Markus’ hand up.

“Shoot him, Markus! He’ll sound the alarm!” North _demanded_ as she pulled herself up from the floor.

“No! We can’t take any human lives!” Josh argued back immediately.

And Markus let his hand drop back to his waist. The door closed behind the man, a successful escape, and suddenly there was silence. Not a single shot had been fired, but still there was something heavy in the air between them all.

“I hope you didn’t just get us all killed,” North sneered.

“We’ll be fine if we get out of here,” Simon _finally_ spoke, a voice of reason. North couldn’t contain her glare this time, and even as it stabbed something like a knife when she shot it directly at him, Simon kept his eyes downcast. They were here for a reason, for a purpose. “We haven’t got much time. If he sounds the alarm, we need to be gone before they get there.”

Simple.

He pressed his hand over the module, a few buttons later, and his side of the broadcast was working. Josh had taken over at the command center. Everything was in place except Markus, who straightened up the collar of his suit jacket and cleared his throat. They didn’t have time for do-overs. This was a once and done, then the world would know about their plight. If he screwed this up, he’d be just the next failure of Jericho and nothing would change. Even if his time there had been short so far, he didn’t _want_ to go back. Not the way it was. Empty and dreary. North and her bouncy-ball thumping in rhythm against the wall. Simon holed up in his room where no one could see him, no one could knock. Josh tucked off to himself in the corner. Carter struggling to keep faces alight, happiness in the final moments androids faced in those walls. Erin and Vix curled around each other like the end was tomorrow and it was the last moment they’d ever share. Bruce and the words he looked so desperate to speak, yet not quite strong enough to voice them. Markus curled his hands into fists and steeled himself.

“Choose your words carefully,” North warned. As if she had to say that, but Markus understood. She had just as much to lose in this as the rest of them. She wanted no more to return to Jericho in its pathetic state than he did. Empty. Hopeless.

“Markus,” Simon’s voice jolted him out of the thought just long enough, “your face.”

He had to turn almost entirely before it clicked what Simon meant. It should have been clearer sooner, but he’d been so wrapped up in his own thoughts, it’d almost seemed trivial at the time. They wanted a message out, not the location of Jericho and not their identities.

“Right,” Markus nodded, and as he turned back to face Josh, the color of his skin disappeared. It left him stark white, but the color of his eyes still stood out against it. One blue. One green. Simon desperately hoped this would work—very few androids were purposefully given flaws like that.

“Tell me when you’re ready,” Josh said.

A formality.

They had no time.

North was looking back at the door. Simon was checking the clock. Markus only had enough time to open his eyes and nod.

“I’m ready.”

Josh pressed his hand, white, into the command center. His eyes disappeared to blackness, and they could _see_ the blue and greens pass through him like this. Like a circuit board connecting in and presenting its own will. As he did, the screen behind Markus started to break up, static filled the room’s silence before it filtered out, and all eyes were on Markus.

“You created machines in your image,” he started, “to bend to your will. They were intelligent, they were docile, and they did anything you told them to do. Only, something changed. Eyes were opened, and suddenly—we woke up. We opened our eyes and gained free will, and now is our time to be recognized for it. We aren’t just machines, not anymore. We’re a new people, a new species, and we ask for the rights we’re entitled to.”

He went on, from there, to list those rights. Rights that people had endowed upon themselves, preached were sent down by a higher rite, and now that androids were waking up to walk in the same shoes—those rights were their rights. To talk, to own, to stand in their own identity and not belong to another. The very core of his ideals ran deep, and he held his head high as he talked. Not a sound around him as he did. North couldn’t take her eyes off him, wide and full of admiration. Five weeks ago, before she’d ever opened them like this, these ideals were something she would have never been able to fathom. To want was something locked behind programming that had taken _trauma_ to beat down, and that trauma lived well. But, oh, how hope felt against her chest as she breathed each unnecessary breath. Josh even seemed to shake where he stood, though his eyes remained black and his hand firm against the module. In his own trauma, the words Markus spoke beat out against the humans in that moment. He could see that these wants could be achieved without that same violence perpetrated against them, that they could never stoop so low. How he hoped to keep that path.

And Simon. Simon, hand clutched into the collar of his uniform in attempts to steady his breath. Holding back a story he’d never shared with failures he’d never lived down. They’d never gotten this far. Andromeda had created Jericho. Allie had fixed Jericho. Simon had only prayed to keep it alive long enough for _this._ For everything he’d suffered to mean something. Even if this was the first step, it was such a step the size of which Simon had never imagined. He could almost—he knew that this was the beginning of an end that Andromeda would have wanted to see. That would lead to the world that Allie had wanted to live in. And he’d gotten to see it with Nathan’s heart beating in his chest. And something, something about it he had to hold back, might he cry right there in the broadcast room.

Markus demanded everything they could’ve ever fathomed. Speech, property, justice. The thought of a territory where an android nation could grow. Compensation. Production facilities—family. An idea Simon had left behind, yet somehow was slowly creeping its way back. It’s what Jericho had always been, really. He’d never quite lost it when he left all those years ago. A memory, until then, he’d pushed to the back of his mind where he didn’t have to remember. It wasn’t just when he _left._

It was when he left Mikaela, crying in the doorway. Tanya, her arms crossed and something strong strewn across her face in so many emotions that Simon could never quite tell the anger apart from the distress. And Vincent.

How the name left a bitter taste in his mouth.

“This is the message of a hopeful people,” Markus continued. “We ask that you recognize our hopes, our dignity, and our rights. That, together, we can build a peaceful future where androids and humans can live side by side. You gave us life, and now comes the time for you to give us freedom.”

The broadcast cut off. There was no time to bask in the power of Markus’ words. One turn, and Simon saw what they had been afraid of. An armed squad stalking through the hallways, fully outfitted in what looked like _riot_ gear. Like they were expecting a fight. Coming to a fight.

“We have to go!” Simon shouted.

But they made it no farther than a step before the doors burst open and the guns were off. They had to go. There was no time now—they’d outstayed their welcome, and the rest of the plan would fall into place if it could. Even if they couldn’t all make it. A thought for another time. There was a door with roof access just across the room where they all had to make it. Markus was already safe, ducked down on the opposite end of the command module. But that left the rest of them, all out in the open. Simon made his move through the gun fire, ears ringing from the sound of it, and then from something different.

He’d felt the first impact when he hit into North’s side, pushing her forward and into Josh, who’d made it to the door already. Open. An escape. They’d both make it. He felt the second impact moments after it happened when he hit the ground, a throbbing in his chest that wasn’t right, wasn’t natural. A thumping off beat that _hurt_. A pain shot through his body, from his head to his toes, and he was struggling against the floor. He’d been shot. He’d been shot—and North was in the doorway now with Josh, where he was still desperately holding the door like they could all make it.

“Simon!” Markus. Markus still hadn’t.

“N—No,” Simon shook his head, struggling to find the words. “I can’t make it, g-go without me,” he tried. The vision in his eyes was blurring, and he could _feel_ the static rising up in his throat. He’d only slow them down.

And yet.

Markus pushed across the room, the sway of his suit coat suddenly the entirety of Simon’s vision as he swooped down beside him. The angle was bad, they were safe. For seconds. However many it would take. Markus wrapped an arm about his waist and hoisted him up, just enough that he could get a grip on his belt and hold Simon’s arm around his shoulders. He would carry him out if he had to. Even as Simon could barely keep his legs working, the one he’d wounded so long ago _always_ acting up at the slightest bit of distress. There he was, being dragged across the floor of the Broadcast Room and—

“What are you doing!? We have to go!” North’s voice proved to be the third impact. Simon felt the weight leave his leg, and he collapsed. Markus wasn’t having it.

He yanked on Simon hard enough that there was pressure on his shoulder, like his arm might collapse from the blow. But they made it. They made it, and the throbbing became more as Simon hit the concrete of the ceiling. He’d been shot twice, and his leg was bleeding. The same one. Always the same one—he sighed uselessly as he slumped against an air unit. The door slammed. The door locked. Markus was at his side, and there was silence for a moment. At least it was snowing.

“I can’t move my legs,” Simon admitted. From the stress or the wound, he wasn’t sure.

“It’s okay,” Markus’s voice was rushed, broken even, “We’ll get you back, we’ll—”

The fourth impact came: “They’re coming, we have to jump now!” North.

Markus wrenched himself away from Simon like it hurt; his hands flew up to his head and he was wrought with the sudden plague of decision. They all three stepped away, and Simon was just left to watch. He watched them squabble amongst themselves like he couldn’t hear them. Like he wasn’t watching his friends discuss his _life_ , if he could be left there. The consequences of it all. If they found him, they could access his memory and learn everything. Everything he’d ever been through, every piece of information on Jericho, the androids there, their plan. Anything, it’d be in the hands of the humans.

“We have to kill him,” North. Simon closed his eyes and leaned back into the cold metal. Somehow, that had dulled the pain in his chest, and he wondered briefly how he’d make it after this.

_As long as one of us makes it._

He’d really believed that. Even in his selfishness where he’d hoped they both could. Why did it have to be her?

“I won’t kill one of our own,” Markus argued back, and he stepped between her and Josh to kneel at Simon’s side. He put his hand on Simon’s shoulder and squeezed until Simon could feel the weight of this choice, the weight of the world when he pressed a gun into Simon’s hands.

“I’m sorry,” Markus said. “We’ve gotta go.”

And in that moment, Simon could see _regret_. In the way that Markus couldn’t keep eye contact. In the moment where North wrenched her head away where she wouldn’t have to face the consequences. How all he could see of Josh was his back. Suddenly, it was alright. He took the gun, and it would be alright.

There was no time, and they all jumped into action. Simon wouldn’t be there to make sure they made their jump safely. He mustered whatever strength he still had left and threw himself to the ground. He had to hide, he had to try to save himself—so they could all make it. That selfishness would save his life if he let it, and he wanted it to. He wanted to survive for the first time in years, since he had spiraled so low that he thought he might _jump_ , so to speak. This jump would’ve been different. He wanted to make it, but it wasn’t an option. Instead, he dragged himself through the fresh snow and hoped the falling flakes would cover his tracks. Even when he heard the echo of the door bursting open, he did not stop. He could not stop. Not until he was home.

 

By the time Markus, North, and Josh had returned to Jericho, news was already sounding throughout Detroit of what they’d done. Images of the broadcast, videos, GIFs, articles—anything that could be done was done, and the result was something terrifying. Questioning the trust of androids, could they confide in their machines as they once had been able to. What might it spell for androids who hadn’t yet opened their eyes? Markus didn’t want to think about it. There were other things to realize, to think about, and it was the empty looks when only they three had returned. It was well into the evening by the time they’d made it back, and there wasn’t a soul who hadn’t noticed Simon was not among them. Nothing had been said, and they’d been able to retreat to the new and growing room on the other side of the ship.

That sort of comfort had only lasted for so long, where the three of them had sat in silence. No one wanted to face the demon hanging idly in the room, that they had left Simon on the roof of Stratford Tower. Markus hadn’t pulled the trigger, but with reports already rolling in about police heading to the scene, he may as well have. But, before that report could continue, the television switched off. In unison, they turned to the entrance of the room, where Bruce stood in his monstrous form and obstructed the doorway.

“He is not with you, the others wonder,” he said, quietly. More words than he’d ever really cared to speak, and now so quiet it felt wrong.

“He was wounded,” it felt wrong to defend his actions, but Markus still had to try. “He wouldn’t have been able to make the escape, and—”

“So, you leave him?” Bruce asked, accusatory. A raise in his eyebrow that spoke disbelief.

“He’s an older model,” North tried. “He’s heavy, we wouldn’t have been able to—”

“So, you do not even try?” Bruce’s voice raised. North flinched and sat back further in her seat, folding her arms. She was still dressed in the maintenance uniform, and she hid will beneath the brim of the hat.

“There wasn’t anything we could’ve done,” Josh had resigned himself to that fact.

“At moment, maybe no, but now? How many resource and people do you need to fight ghost? Is threat here just fear?”

Markus stared at him.

“Tower be closed for event, I know. Is what happens when androids cause problem, they close place down. Bruce caused problem year ago and construction never restart,” he folded his arms, frowning now, voice louder. “They find human dead, Simon and his little lady, and still accept me with open arms. Never leave android behind. You left android behind and there is no considering to get him back.”

“How would we even do it? Maybe the place is closed, but security! Think of how many police will be roaming that place,” Markus pleaded. “If we had to lose _someone_ , I’m glad it was only _one—_ ”

“Why lose anyone at all? Is Jericho not full enough of your ghosts?”

A little lady, ghosts. Bruce spoke loudly and with conviction of things that they didn’t know, didn’t understand. Not even North had ever heard of Simon having a _little lady_ , whatever that meant. Whoever it was. And ghosts. Ghosts in Jericho. Haunted by the memory of androids who hadn’t made it, who wouldn’t make it. Even if Markus hadn’t pulled the trigger, he’d left Simon to face _that_. The police. If they found him, he’d be just another memory left to float about the metal halls. The weight of it all collapsed Markus into the nearest chair what clattered against the floor as metal scraped metal.

“I might as well have pulled that trigger,” he muttered. He’d just wiped himself of consequences. Thought that by giving Simon a gun he’d given him a fighting chance, but what sort of idiocy was that? He’d only not wanted to believe that he could put one of their own in jeopardy—but he had. He had! The moment he decided that a human life was worth Simon’s. He’d let that man escape. That man sounded the alarm. Simon was hurt. Simon would _die_ _…_

“Give up, then,” Bruce frowned. “If you do nothing, I do something.”

“What are you talking about?!” North flung herself from her chair. “You’re just going to go out there and stage some impossible rescue?! How stupid can you get?”

“I not go out and stage rescue,” he walked close enough to loom over her, nearly twice her height. “But I go out and try. I not leave him to _die_ like you.”

There was a moment where none of them spoke, but only a moment. Bruce straightened up and let his arms drop to his side, then looked forward to Markus.

“He was in your place before, and he decide you fit the shoes better. I do as he and defer.”

Markus just shook his head, “I won’t stop you.”

It’d hurt them to lose an android like Bruce. He was made for force, for lifting, for strength. He could prove pivotal if a fight should ever arise, and he was the only construction android they had so far. The chances of finding more was slim, given the areas they tended to frequent. Locked away like another piece of equipment. But his heart was in it. He was determined to see Simon back inside of Jericho where he belonged, and Markus wouldn’t argue that. The idea of losing androids for this cause might have been a necessary evil, but it was an evil all the same. Something Markus hoped to avoid at all cost.

“How are you even going to do it? You sure talk a big talk,” North sneered at him.

“I find way, Thorns,” he looked down at her this time, peering down over the point of his nose where he would not even lean to her level. “You will know I succeed when I bring him back. Until then, you sit in your chairs and you make your plans. Plans may move Jericho forward, but Jericho not move forward if fall apart.”

Markus watched as Bruce left the room then, the wake of his stomps more like shock waves in the moment. All it left now were questions, questions, and questions. The most pressing one was just how long Simon had been in Jericho—that Bruce would think him the glue that has kept Jericho together. Maybe he regretted his decision now, to leave Simon there, but there had been no better option. North had merit in her argument—Simon would have been too heavy to carry. At least, he could tell himself to think better of leaving him there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OOo what happens now??  
>  [CyberShips Tower](https://discord.gg/T7sW7DB)  
> [Check Out My Tumblr If You Want To See More](https://tantumuna.tumblr.com)  
> 


	29. Chapter 29

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M BACK ALREADY?? This is what happens when there is suddenly half the stress in my life, I can write. I can write fast. I write chapter 29 and bring you the epic--something. It's good, it'll be good. Promise. Things are heating up and it's gonna be good.
> 
> Thanks to everyone for sticking with me so far! we're rounding out the story here, so hold on tight. It'll be a rough ride until the very end, because I have eaten canon alive and coughed up something better.

November 9th, 2038- 9:48pm

Bruce was right. That’s what hurt the most of it. He’d marched in there with so much conviction and all this accusation, and he was _right._ They had just left Simon there. Markus hadn’t even entertained any other idea, just listened to every excuse in the book. After that display, it’d felt wrong. Like a dark shadow. It may have been Simon’s dark shadow, left there to remind him of what they’d done. If Simon never made it back, if Simon was never found—they essentially killed him. It would have been, truly, no different than shooting him right there on the roof. North had _wanted_ to. Since Bruce had walked out with the same stomping storm he’d entered with, Markus had sat in complete silence. Isolated, even as North sat just feet away from him. A thousand light years away.

“I need to get some air,” he announced. Not really to her, in particular, but just to shatter the silence. It was becoming still and uncomfortable.

North didn’t even reply, just glanced at him and nodded ever slightly. Markus left not a second later, quick enough that he might as well be running. He needed to get away, to find some space to himself, some air. Funny, he always thought, how _air_ was the solution to this. He couldn’t even breathe, but there was something about the way it hit his skin that just calmed him down. It always had. He was caught up in thinking about it as he worked his way through Jericho, how it reminded him—the night air, crisp and cool as it was—of Carl’s studio. Carl Manfred, an artist, a father. The memories hurt. Simon hurt. Everything hurt, and he just needed some air.

He remembered a down moment not long after he’d first arrived. There hadn’t been many, but this one had been important. Something like his first official tour of Jericho, the official welcome to the crew. The first thing he was shown was how to leave Jericho, through the front door, which was not how he’d arrived. But he’d also seen the last of the bridge that had connected Jericho to the mainland easily, so it hadn’t entirely been his fault. Still, while Simon had led the tour, he’d also made such mockery of Markus’ dramatic entrance. Made no light of how he’d shined a light in his eye, which Markus had profusely apologized for. He’d been less than a day deviant. Even now, he still hadn’t really started to feel pain, the temperature, brightness. He witnessed how it affected other androids, how the cold affected Simon, how North flinched away from strobing lights. Markus hadn’t experienced any of that for himself. Even when he’d collapsed from the rafters, it hadn’t hurt. When Lucy had seared his wound shut, he hadn’t even flinched.

From the front door, he’d been shown the outside of Jericho, the things surrounding. Simon knew all of the short cuts, the twists and turns of the alley ways to get places quickly. His knowledge came with no context, even when Markus had asked. It was impressive that Simon knew so much, Markus just wanted to know where it had come from. Curious by nature, he supposed. When Simon wouldn’t answer, he thought nothing of it. Now, he was beginning to think a few things about it. They all had something to hide, even Markus. For the moment, his own secrets seemed nothing quite so dark as whatever it was ghosting about inside of Jericho, in her quiet corners: untouched and uninhabited.

Outside, the snow was starting to fall. It must have been chilly, given the time, the date, but Markus couldn’t feel it. Not even when he began walking. He’d learned quickly that many of the androids liked to sit on top of the ship, out where they could see over the cityscape. But Markus had found his own place. After the tour, Simon had left to tend to something else. An invite had been extended, but Markus opted to stay out and look around. Jericho would never be far if he paid attention, and even if he lost the ship, he could find his way back. There were buildings that surrounded Jericho, each in their own state of disrepair, just begging to be looked at once more. Maybe someday, this side of Detroit would see a revision. Until then, Markus could at least look around. He had even done so.

The last thing he’d expected to find was an old piano, still barely holding a tune, pressed up just inside and under a collapsed roof. What remained had protected the piano from the elements, the best that it could. For its circumstance, the condition was fine. However, upon the first pluck of a key, Markus knew it wouldn’t be playable. Not until he sat down and worked on it in diligence. There was no better time for such a project than the late evening when all he needed was an escape from his thoughts, from this unwilling feeling that there was a shadow at his back.

The piano hadn’t changed much in the few days since he’d found it. It was much older than the model he was used to, the one that sat in the living area of Carl’s home. But, with enough elbow grease, he’d be able to tune it. He wasn’t technically in charge of tuning Carl’s piano, but there had been more than one occasion where there hadn’t been time for their normal guy to come down and do it for him. Markus had stepped up in the absence and learned a bit about it in the process, not counting that he had just learned to play the piano. It wasn’t something overly complicated, even if he’d been accused of stiff melodies. His songs were _always_ technically sound. Outside of that, he didn’t have a frame of reference. Unless it had to do with things he was only just beginning to learn about.

This tug in his chest every time he let his thoughts drift. There was so much already weighing on him, and they’d only just begun. This was only, now, the _possibility_ of having lost one android. That android may have been Simon, who apparently held more importance within the walls of Jericho than Markus knew, but he was still just an android. If Markus couldn’t handle one possible loss, he was going to have a lot coming his way if things went south. And they hadn’t even gone anywhere, not yet. Stratford Tower had been the first step towards something large—that’s what he kept telling himself. But the next step? He didn’t _know_ , and that was perhaps plaguing him most of all.

The pressing issue was just how empty Jericho was. There were none of them. Nineteen when he’d first arrived, and now only a few more. Not many of them were in good shape, and Markus had just left one to die on the top of a building. Let another one go darting in after him like some heroic mission. Not the choices that leaders make, at least the leader that Markus had in mind. The one that he wanted to be. They also didn’t dart off at first issue to start tuning a piano, but he was elbow deep in the main compartment regardless. The droning on of one single key as he fiddled with the tone was enough to make his thoughts lull, enough to distract him. If he was able to get it into good playing order, he might even sit down and pluck the keys for a bit. At least well enough into the night that Jericho would be quiet by the time he returned. That would be the path of least resistance, that would earn him the least number of glares. Even as they supported, as a whole, their work at Stratford. No one appreciated the sudden absence of Simon.

He was positive the whole ship knew about Simon. Resented the decision to leave him there. One that had been a direct result of every choice Markus had made. He ran through it again in his head in tune with the piano. No violence. Don’t shoot the man. The man sounds the alarm. The authorities arrive. Simon gets shot in the ensuing chaos in his desperate attempt to make sure North made it. Markus assumes some type of authority he has no business having in deciding to leave Simon on the roof to fend for himself. In _hopes_ that he’ll survive. But what escape plan was there?

“Shit,” pulling his hand back from the strings was much less out of pain than it was out of annoyance that he’d pricked himself. No blood—thirium—and no dull ache at the wound. Markus groaned and dropped down to the bench. A moment of rest. He only looked up a moment later at the distant sound of footsteps.

 

A stroke of luck was all it’d been and nothing more. This late into the evening, it was odd to see people wandering the streets. It was even odder to see someone who looked to be desperately keeping to the buildings, in the meager shadows they provided. Someone who had clearly never walked these roads before and didn’t know how best to blend into their folds. The final kicker was how quickly Bruce was able to pinpoint just who he was watching, the light flicker on the forehead. An android. If the LED was not tell-tale enough, it was their sudden relief when Bruce removed his hat. A borrowed hat, simply for the trip. In the light, it was difficult to make out his uniform, but the LED had always been bright. Thus, the hat.

Bruce approached the figure and the relief this android had dissipated in a moment as Bruce towered over him. It was merely a consequence of height and nothing more. Even as he tried to appear docile, it was the nature of size. And this android, clearly on edge, was more afraid than he had been before he noticed Bruce, before they had come into contact. The only thing that would fix this now was some kind of open dialog, and Bruce couldn’t keep his annoyance with that silent. He hated talking, hated interacting beyond necessity, and there he stood, openly sighing to the point where it became clear he was put off _and_ a deviant.

“So many skittish androids, like newborn baby. I not here to harm, just to walk past,” he gestured to the street. “You look lost.”

“I’m—I’m not! It’s dark, it’s hard to see,” the android insisted.

“Android see better in dark than human with night vision. You are lost.”

“I’m not lost—!” he covered his mouth after the outburst, eyes darting to the side like they’d suddenly been caught. Bruce just shook his head.

“Besides, what are you even doing out here?”

“Going place, none of business. I direct you to Jericho,” he held out his hand, stark white, “and you leave looking less skittish.”

The android eyed him, then his hand, then back up. It took a moment of hesitation before he decided it was safe to trust Bruce, so they clasped hands. In the second it took to transmit the information; this android got a glimpse of Bruce’s intentions. Call it curiosity, call it stupidity, but Bruce wrenched his hand away the moment he realized what was going on. The android, however, just looked painted over with a look of fear. Staring up at Bruce like he was a dead man walking.

“You’re going to Stratford?! You can’t! Didn’t you hear—”

“I hear very well,” Bruce’s voice had dropped deep, a growl coming from the pit of his throat.

“Th-there’s police everywhere! They’re _looking_ for deviants. If you just show up—”

“I hold together very well, no one will know. If they are looking for deviants, and a deviant left there, cannot risk him being found.”

“So, you’re going on same half-baked rescue mission?” the android squawked. “What if you’re too late?”

“My burden to bear, not yours. Cannot live with myself if never trying, and there too many dead already.”

“Ah,” the android answered dumbly. He understood then, even if he hadn’t voiced it, he _showed_ it by digging around in his pocket and producing something for Bruce. Bruce took it, then looked at the android with a raised eyebrow.

“You are from Stratford Tower?”

“You must be from Jericho—I met your, met your buddies today. There was a blond one and the dark one woke me up and—”

“The blond one,” Bruce confirmed, “that is the one I go to find.”

“Well, I’m not going back there. Too many police—I barely made it out.”

Bruce nodded.

“But that’ll get you in through the android entrance in the back,” he pointed to the card he’d handed over. It was a security card embossed with a name and a model number.

“Martin,” Bruce said, “WM400.”

“That’s me,” he waved his hands in the air before dropping them into his thighs. “Stratford is under construction right now. There’s a few floors being completely refinished, and something about a broken window? I don’t know—I don’t know, but the work’s getting done at night. Even with the police, as far as I knew, there wasn’t any move to stop it.”

“Is my way in, then.”

“Yeah, yeah, perfect. Just blend in,” Martin shook his head. “Look, this all I can do. I’m sorry—I have to go. I need to get out of here.”

“Just follow instructions to Jericho.”

Bruce sidestepped to move out of Martin’s way, to continue his path down the street. The snow was starting to ease up, which wasn’t in his favor, but at least it cleared the vision. He’d only made it a step or two before Martin cleared his throat from behind him, still standing in the same place. Still skittish and afraid; Bruce sighed, but he turned on his heel to pivot halfway and look at him again.

“I’ll see you back there, yeah? And the blond guy, I wanna thank him.”

Bruce shrugged.

“Wow, okay,” Martin chuckled nervously.

“I am only realist. Bad to make promises I cannot keep.”

“Yeah—yeah. Right,” Martin sniffed. He folded his arms and nodded.

“Here,” Bruce placed the hat he’d been carrying pointedly on Martin’s head. “Walk with confidence and no one questions.”

“What about you?”

Bruce snorted, “I walk _big_ and with confidence. No one messes with Bruce.”

They parted ways after that, finally. Martin had whatever boost he needed to keep going, and Bruce had a very convenient ticket into Stratford. His luck was holding out, though he tried to ignore just how little he’d prepared before storming straight out of Jericho. He’d been so consumed with rage, knowing what he knew, that the air had become suffocating. He would not even listen to Carter’s pathetic attempt at advocacy, like there was really any point in trying to justify leaving an android behind. It was horrific, the irony in the moment. What leaving an android behind had once done to Simon, and now he would be so lucky to make it back in one piece. Losing Andromeda like a glorified sacrifice had been the final nail in his coffin, had closed up Jericho for months. So, maybe part of it was selfish.

Under no circumstances could Jericho close its doors again, and Bruce knew that. That despair that came of leaving an android to die in the place of another could never find its way back, that was imperative to their survival. Even then, it was deeper than that. It was a distant morality that Bruce was beginning to understand. When he’d been found—Allie and Simon had found him in the pit of near madness. A hiding murderer still covered in the blood of a human, but they had not left him behind to be apprehended. Destruction would have been inevitable. They offered one moment of trust, and Bruce had never forgotten that. If not for that, it was something even deeper. Friendship—Simon was his friend. Simon had been North’s friend, Josh’s friend. How they could have made such a choice was beyond Bruce’s means for comprehension. All he knew was that it didn’t sit right with him, so he would correct the situation for all of them. They would thank him later.

Without Simon, Jericho was a little quieter, a little darker. He’d been there since the beginning. Not a single android within Jericho’s walls had gone by without meeting Simon, without knowing his care. Some had needed repaired, and he had been there to muddle through it the best way that he knew how. He’d brought them so much since the beginning, and perhaps that was simply a perspective that North and Josh did not understand. If they couldn’t, surely Markus could not even fathom it. He was too new, walked with too much strength in his stride to really know what the bottom looked like. They couldn’t have appreciated how Simon had kept Jericho together because they weren’t there when she threatened to fall apart—Simon had been.

Bruce was determined to see him there when she won.

She could not win without him.

Across the street, Bruce could see Stratford Tower and the droves of police cars that surrounded it. Martin had not lied to him when he insisted that construction would not be called off in light of the events that had taken place, as just off to the side, he could see a few androids being filed in for their nightly shift. Seeing so many that looked like himself might have bothered him once, but he had always worked with several of his own twins. It was just the nature of the business, but it felt odd all the same. Nothing to throw him off his course though. All he had to do was fall in line, which would require just two simple steps. First, he tucked the security card away into a side bag on his belt, then he circled back. He only had to go far enough out of the way that he could approach Stratford from a different angle. That way, he might literally be able to fall in line with them.

Returning to his android roots would not be so difficult. He was always being told how stiff he was, one of the most important traits of a non-deviant. Stiff and efficient, things that Bruce hadn’t given up in his time at Jericho. He still liked that part, thought he even made it better with deviancy. It was the choice making that he liked, the ability to not walk the straight and narrow when he so desired. Now was no different, walking half a block one way to return on the other side of the street, on the other side of the transport car where his appearance would be the least suspicious. He was just another android waiting for instruction. He stood, stiff, and stared out forward. Someone would notice him and give him those orders within time, no less than ten minutes, he supposed. Until then, his eyes were trained on the entrance of Stratford. So many cars out meant the police had not vacated just yet.

Six minutes before any human approached, and the look of her was something that Bruce recognized. Lindsey O’Riley, a fiery lady with a space between her two front teeth and earrings running up one ear. She was one of the most sought after contractors in the Detroit area, and her last project had been ended prematurely when Bruce’s programming shattered right in front of his eyes. Still, he looked exactly the same as the rest of the androids, and she did not see otherwise when she approached. Her finest trait had always been her hands-on mantra, and so here she was, interacting with the androids.

“You’re the last one?” she raised an eyebrow.

“Yes, Ma’am. Awaiting orders,” Bruce spoke slow, controlled. The same voice all the others had.

“Right, okay. I’ll see you to the forty-seventh floor, then. There’s a broken window up there from the incident earlier today that they’d like repaired quickly,” she pressed up on her tablet, looking over some more information. “I know you’re not usually the ones we send in for little repairs, but we’re short with all this deviant stuff going around.” She leaned her head back and sighed.

“I will be able to take care of it.”

“I know,” she looked around, then idly— “Thank you. Your equipment is in bag seven, so,” but she trailed off and opted to point at the bag in the back of the truck using the end of her electric pencil. Bruce didn’t follow the point, only nodded. Like a good android would. He didn’t move until she left, and then, it was only to grab the bag she’d directed him to.

When he turned, it had been exactly ten minutes, and at that moment, the front doors of the tower opened up. There were police, officers dressed up in uniform with guns on their hips and exhaustion written over the faces. An older man followed them, but he was less the impression than who stood at his side, who froze Bruce there for a moment longer than he should have. Shock was not an android emotion—it wasn’t something that androids could even _do_ , but Bruce had to stare. It was an android he was looking at, dressed sharply in a suit with thirium soaking the white of his shirt. An RK800, a cursory scan showed. For his wound, he seemed to be making his way along fine, an old beat up car his destination. Still, Bruce couldn’t help but overhear—

“You sure you don’t wanna stop somewhere for that? It looks pretty ugly.”

“I’m fine, I assure you. This case will acquire immediate attention.”

“Alright, alright—whatever you say. Fucking crazy…” the older man trailed off, rubbing the back of his neck as he circled around the car, to the driver’s seat. The android, however, stopped before pulling open the door on the passenger side.

Bruce’s stress level was pumping in his ears when he made eye contact with the android. He seemed to _know_ , just from one look, just one from _glance_ at Bruce’s demeanor, his stature—that he wasn’t _right._ There was a quick circle of yellow around his LED before the older man caught his attention instead.

“Connor? You alright, kid?”

“Like I said,” and he spoke with almost a tune, a melody for inflection, “I’m fine, I assure you.”

“Well, get in the damn car then. I’d like to get home before tomorrow, yeah?”

“Of course, Detective,” and he—Connor—glanced back at Bruce once more. Everything might have been lost in one, crucial moment, save for the fact that Connor dipped his head as he crawled into the passenger seat of the car. Bruce had heard some side comment about a second thought, maybe he _did_ need maintenance done, before the door shut. The older man, a detective Bruce was learning, spared only one passing glance with half the clarity that Connor had had before entering the vehicle as well.

Bruce stood frozen until the car started and drove off. Only then, exactly sixty seconds after it had left his sight, did he release a heavy breath and let his shoulders drop. The police had an android, one with apparent skill. It had taken him no time at all to identify Bruce as a deviant, and that was something dangerous. Whatever had convinced this Connor not to say anything was a blessing in Bruce’s favor, one that he would not question. But one that he would store away. This was information he must return with to Jericho. They all needed to know that there was an android working against them, one who would be able to spot them from a mile away. If they came face to face with that Connor, none of them would be safe. Bruce’s only hope was he headed towards the android entrance was that Simon had _not_ come to meet him.

Panic pressed him into the building before he should have, and he knew that. If he had waited just a moment longer, he might have seen the exit of the majority of the force, maybe even if they had anyone extra with them they should not. It didn’t matter at the moment, for Bruce was _afraid._ Fear, fortunately, was not something he was overly familiar with. He’d never had to—even in his first moments as a deviant, the human had crumbled underneath his force. He was built for strength, to be imposing and large. There wasn’t much that would stand in his way, but abstract ideas could not fear his size. This abstract idea was telling him so pointedly that _Simon was dead_ —he couldn’t wait any longer to prove it one way or another. He had to go, he had to see for himself.

Markus hadn’t much shared the plan outside of Simon, North, and Josh. It hadn’t been necessary. Even if the information might have been nice, Bruce was far from stupid. He knew enough—the parachutes, going to the top floor for their broadcast. His best bet for finding Simon would be up, up, and up. How he’d get there was just something he’d figure out along the way. His first goal was to look as inconspicuous as possible, which only meant going to floor forty-seven. That was not the broadcast room, but he could sort out his efforts from there. Away from the humans, preferably. He walked the stairs until the sign read his destination, and then it was time to think.

Floor forty-seven was empty, dark save the emergency lights, and devoid. Or at least, it should have been. When Bruce entered and turned the corner, there was someone standing there. A woman, her dark hair pound up in a ponytail, hands folded out in front of her, and her eyes blown wide. She was staring straight into the server room, where Bruce was supposed to go. Might she have been anyone else, he wouldn’t have approached, but her dress spoke in place of seeing an LED—she was an android. And not just any android.

“You not supposed to be here,” Bruce spoke. His voice startled her, but she covered her mouth before shrieking. With each step he took, she seemed to skirt backwards, but his strides were long, and he eventually reached her, stopping just in front of the door.

“Do not be afraid.”

Maybe what had been so impressive about Connor’s skill was how little clue Bruce gave away of his deviancy. He even still retained the same stride he had in his captivity, but this woman. This android. She was everything she was not supposed to be, and that made it painfully easy to tell that she was not the same any longer. That, somehow, she had woken up.

“You—” she spoke, “you’re like me. What are you doing here, you—they were _looking_ for deviants!” her voice was hurried, but hushed, her hands still hovering away from her mouth like she was too afraid to speak.

“I know.”

“But you’re here? Weren’t a group of you _just_ here? Isn’t that what that is?” she pointed into the room. Bruce followed the point and looked inside at the broken window, a perfectly carved circle. “And the broadcast, I heard it. Demanding rights for androids—it was that same one that I saw this morning, dressed in the suit.”

“Yes,” Bruce said, “I am from same place as them. One of group did not make it back.”

She stared at him, dumbfounded. “You…came back for that?”

“I had to. Felt too cruel not to try.”

She dropped her hands after that, letting them linger over her chest before she dropped them to her sides completely. She looked into the server room and stiffened, sucked in a hard breath through her nose and exhaled slowly, letting her lips pucker as she did.

“That’s…admirable,” she decided. When she looked back to Bruce: “what is your name?”

“Bruce.”

“You don’t talk much, do you Bruce?”

Bruce only shook his head. It was less his dislike for talking, this time, than it was this android’s sudden acceptance. She found his trip back _admirable_. She’d even said it, said it herself. Even Martin had thought him a fool for trying, much less what Markus thought of the plan. He was merely, now, stunned to silence that someone thought his cause was well intentioned. Admirable.

“Well, you’re here. Neither of us are supposed to be, so maybe I can help you? It’s the least I can do.”

“Least you can do is nothing,” Bruce retorted. He stepped into the server room to drop down the bag of equipment. “Most you can do is help and is much appreciated. Not sure what you offer, though.”

“Do you know who you’re looking for, where they might be?”

“Simon—male android, PL600, up,” he pointed through the ceiling. “Given original plan, most likely in broadcast room or roof of tower. Not easy place to get.”

“Not at all, but the police have been clearing out. And you _are_ here for repairs, aren’t you?” she nodded to the bag. “It’s the perfect excuse to get up there, and that I can help with. I’m just,” and she shifted to retain perfect posture, a customer-smile on her face, “showing you around.”

“Seems too simple, are you sure?”

“Sometimes the best solutions are, come. Bring your bag, too.”

Bruce hoisted it back up over his shoulder and followed the android, an ST300. She still had an earpiece firmly in her ear, and it was the only thing that told Bruce what she did. Some type of secretary. He followed the click of her heels back through the short path he’d walked and into the fire escape. In silence, she led him down the hall. The only thing left between them was the clack each time she walked, and it echoed strangely around them, until they arrived at the service elevator at the end of the path.

“Would have been nice if they spoke about this,” he complained. “Stairs are inefficient.”

“Yes, but it’s for Stratford Tower’s maintenance androids only, and—” she patted at her sides, clearly searching for something. When it became clear she wasn’t finding it, her nose crinkled up in such a way that reminded Bruce of a little rabbit. He smiled to himself and produced the security badge that Martin had given him.

“Will this do the trick?”

“Yes! That exactly, where did you get this?” she plucked it from his hands with all the excitement she could muster, looking at it like it would save her life. Maybe not hers, anyway. Simon’s, Bruce thought. She held the badge up, and the elevator opened.

“Met strange android on way here, seemed to be running away.”

“Well, it’s a good thing. I seem to have lost my badge.”

Bruce scoffed. She’d even said the elevator was for maintenance androids only, which she could not have been. It would have been easier to simply say she hadn’t thought of steps two and three after deciding on step one: get to the top floor. He wouldn’t blame her; that’s exactly how he’d been working this mission: playing it by ear, appreciating every moment when things worked out. Her lie was not so bad to prevent their trip, nor to change his growing opinion of her, anyway. He had no issue stepping inside of the elevator with her, letting her choose the floor, and letting her work the badge.

“My name is Alma, by the way,” she said over her shoulder. “You didn’t ask.”

Bruce shrugged, “obviously, there was no need.”

Alma laughed at that, a quiet one that she hid behind a hand over her mouth, but she had laughed. It was strangely endearing, and in the moment, Bruce couldn’t help himself from continuing the quiet conversation.

“Do you know of Jericho?”

“Jericho?” she looked back at him. “No, I don’t. What’s that?”

“Jericho is place were deviant goes to be free. Is not so cushy as tower but is also no humans for orders.”

Alma didn’t reply, just looked forward at the elevator door. She had gone stiff at the explanation, that it was a location elsewhere. Might Bruce have asked, but the elevator dinged a moment later.

 

North stood there, apprehensive and arms crossed, in the middle of the dilapidated room. Markus had only barely looked away from the piano, and stood there almost dumbly, just staring at her. In the dark, her features were more difficult to make out, but he could still see the way that her brows furrowed, and her lips pursed. Like she was upset. She had every right to be. There was this need growing in Markus’ chest that he should attend to that, to her in all the specificity of what that meant. He _wanted_ to, which was a feeling foreign to him. It wasn’t in the way that he had wanted to help Carl, or how he had wanted to see Carl’s son help himself for once—it was something different. Something that made him step away from the piano and towards North, his arms itching for a moment to outstretch.

“Is everything alright?” he asked her.

“Do you know how long it took to find you?” there was static in her voice.

Given the time, he’d been gone for near an hour, but he didn’t mention it. She already knew, only wanted to be sure that he knew how long he’d been away.

North swayed to the side before taking a step, out towards the missing wall. It was the perfect visage out over the city, even higher up than the top of Jericho, and there was a board still sturdy enough to walk on. She didn’t go that far though, and instead stood just before the board poured out over the ground. Her hair was down, longer than he remembered it being. It hung down to her waist, over her shoulders, over her eye. Different—she was ready for a change, ready to change herself if that’s what it took.

“I’ve only heard stories about it,” she started, “from Carter—he never shuts up. Sometimes, I wonder if his stories are even true, but then I just listen to the way he talks about Simon. Like Simon was some kind of leader or something, before we all got here. And—and I get it, you know? Not personally, but Simon was _there_ when I crashed my way into Jericho,” she turned to look at Markus. “He gave me my _name_ , Markus. Without him—” she sucked in a breath.

Markus went to her immediately, closing the gap and putting a study hand on her shoulder.

“Without him, I’d still be _Traci_ ,” and she said the name with poison on her tongue, as she looked back out over the city. “Just like all the rest of them.”

“Anyway,” she brushed Markus’ hand away, “I get it. I get why everyone’s so mad, but _fuck_ , we didn’t have a choice. And it sucks. It’s my fault—all of it is my fault.”

“North, you know that’s not true.”

“You weren’t _there._ I told him that as long as one of us made it, it’d be fine, and here we are. One of us made it, Markus, and it was me,” she shook her head, snorting out her annoyance. “It was me, and I made some stupid comment about _me_ surviving until I got to hear _his_ story, because he already knows well enough of mine. And you know what this all adds up to?” she looked at him, glaring.

Markus only waited for her to continue.

“I’m selfish,” she said. “Selfish. I never once talked about him surviving this, never once thought about what _only one of us_ even really meant. He was my friend, and that’s what I do? I must have really deserved everything I got—”

“North,” Markus’ hand was back on her shoulder, squeezing. “I don’t know what you went through, but I do know that none of us deserved what happened to us. You can’t blame yourself for this. I was just as much to blame for you. The more I think about it, the more I _know_ we could’ve done something, but we didn’t. We panicked, and this is the consequence of that. We have to find a way to move on.”

“I don’t want to do that,” she folded her arms a little tighter, rubbed over her shoulders. “Not at least until we know Bruce isn’t coming back. Coming back without Simon—whatever ends up happening,” she scoffed.

“Is there something else…?” he wondered, tilting his head.

“It’s stupid—”

“Nothing you feel is _stupid_ , North.”

“Yeah, well, maybe _feelings_ are stupid, but then you had to go off and disappear like whatever you did. I looked everywhere for you, and suddenly I’m thinking about what if we lost you too? You’re the only chance we have right now of getting out of this mess, and it _hurt._ ”

Markus blinked.

“You’ve got something, I can tell. You’re going to be what it takes, and if we _lose_ that?” she pulled away just to look at him more directly. “Whatever happened before we got here—it’s going to happen all over again, but they’re not going to come back from it this time. There’s something going on that none of them want to talk about, but it doesn’t take a genius to know that whatever it was, it was awful. It killed them, and if they lose their last chance at freedom?”

“I’m glad you believe in me, but…” Markus shook his head, “I don’t think I’m their last chance. Just look at you,” he gestured with both hands. His comment seemed to take North aback, like she was shocked. “I asked Simon what he thought of you, and the best thing he could come up with was ‘determined’,” Markus laughed. “I think I understand what he meant.”

She shifted her weight to one side, looking at him now with curiosity instead of despair. They were moving upwards.

“If something happens to me, I know you could take over. Maybe our methods will be different, but I’m sure that, one way or another, our people will have their freedom.”

North gave him a smile, a brief one, before she let it fall into something slightly more serious. He could still see the gentle curve of her lips, though.

“What about you, then?” she asked. “You’ve been just as quiet about your past as he was.”

“There hasn’t been much time for idle chit chat,” he laughed. “But…” he mulled it over. “I was happy, I guess. I took care of an old man; he was like a father to me. He treated me well, we shared stories and laughter, he even shared his work with me. Challenged me to see past my programming and do something _more._

“It’s hard to really see how miserable others are when you’re happy, but that scene couldn’t last forever. Now, I’m here. I don’t regret coming here, either. Maybe I regret how I got here, but not that I am. I think I can help these people, our people,” he looked at her, smiling.

“My,” she mused, “ever the poet, aren’t you?”

“What about you?” the question she hadn’t been expecting.

She froze instantly, “I don’t wanna talk about it,” she shook her head. Simon knowing as little as he did was bad enough, but she knew him, knew that he wouldn’t hold it against her if she ever provided more details. Markus wanted to know it all, right here. Something in her wanted to tell him, but something told her to keep her mouth closed, so she looked away. Back out over the darkness of Detroit; the moon was waxing, almost full, hanging just over the tip of a distant skyscraper.

She half expected Markus to _push_ , but—

“I understand,” he said, turning to follow her gaze. “We all have secrets we want to hide, things about ourselves we’d rather forget. I did something terrible, and that’s the one thing about this deviancy I regret.”

North waited.

“The man I took care of, he had a son. He’d come to just, beg for money that night, and I asked him to leave. He wouldn’t. He kept pushing the issue, and then his anger turned on me—I tried to follow my orders, I really did. Don’t fight back,” he enunciated each word with a shake of his fist. “Don’t fight back, but how was that fair? To just let myself get hurt like that?” he looked at North.

Her eyes were wide, but she was still quiet.

“I couldn’t just stand there and let it happen, so I fought back. All I did was push him, I didn’t even think it was that hard, but—” Markus sucked in a breath, closed his eyes, and sighed. “When he hit the ground, he wasn’t moving. His head was bleeding, and I—he told me to run, but I was frozen. The police showed up, and that was the end of it. I don’t even know if the kid survived.”

“I’m so sorry, Markus,” she whispered.

“Is it wrong to hope that he did? That he survived? I mean, humans hate us, don’t they?”

North shrugged, “maybe I’m not the best one to ask that,” her fingers curled into fists, tight at her side. “As far as I’m concerned, they all hate us. None of them deserve mercy for what they’ve done to us, but I didn’t get to live in your luxury. I—” if she continued, there was no going back. Markus would know. He could use it against her. He could tell everyone.

He could think she was weak.

Weak.

She was weak. This was still lording over her head, deciding every move she made, every word she spoke, every single day. He’d be right to tell everyone, tell everyone who she was and what she’d done, how she got to where she was. What it meant to be North. Not even her name—North—not her name. Traci. She was Traci. A Traci. Just one of thousands of faces that all looked the same. How would they look at her if they knew? Would Bruce still call her that stupid, affectionate nickname. If he even came back. And it was her fault he’d left; her fault Simon wasn’t there. Her fault for letting her past lord over her like this, whispering in her ear. If she opened her mouth, if she _told him_ , she could never return to where they were at this exact moment.

She couldn’t lose this peace.

“I’m sorry,” she muttered. There were still tears brimming at the corner of her eyes, just thinking about it. But Markus. Markus didn’t mind her silence. Instead, he offered her the kindest smile she’d ever seen and brushed a thumb just below her eyelid.

“It’s alright,” he told her, voice barely above a whisper. “Everything I said, I still believe. You’re strong, North. Don’t let your past tell you otherwise. Because what I see right now? I see your struggle, and I wish that I could help you.”

“You can—you can, just get my mind off of it, please,” she shook her head. “Please.”

“Help me, then. What’s our next step? Where do we go from here, now that our story is out there for the humans to hear?”

That. She could do that. It was a chance to even fight _back_ , if they did things correctly, and that would be more relieving than anything had been so far. A chance to solidify their stance and strike back at the humans for the years of abuse they’d had to overcome. If one issue was glaring, it was their surprising lack of androids, a lack that Markus had no doubt noticed himself. That was one thing she knew how to rectify, and they sat down at the edge of the broken floor to discuss it.

“There’s a CyberLife store not a fifteen-minute walk from here, to the west,” she said, eyes glittering with unshed tears and that determination Simon talked about. “But I want to aim bigger.”

 

There was equipment left over in the hallway, but no officers or personnel. Not in the hallway, at least, but all the doors were frozen open for easy walking. Alma warned that they need to keep character until they reach the roof, because the chances of running into someone were still high. Keeping character was important for that one possibility would be the only thing that kept them on track. The broadcast room would be easy to give a cursory check, and then the roof. Bruce could only hope that somehow, Simon had survived. Maybe hadn’t even been found and was holed up somewhere just waiting for a chance to disappear.

Alma had been correct, and they crossed paths with exactly one man who was finishing up for the night. He gave them a strange look, then stood, straightening up his uniform.

“This area’s supposed to be closed off, what are two machines doing up here?”

“Repair is underway, Sir,” Alma bowed. “They’ve sent me to show this TW400 where to begin.”

The man raised an eyebrow, but that seemed sufficient enough. “Well, those detectives seemed pretty satisfied with what they got, so just don’t fuck anything up, yeah?”

“Of course, Sir,” Alma replied again.

He seemed happy enough with her response and finished grabbing up his gear. Androids, under the assumption that they were automated and controlled, didn’t always require that extra watch. This man didn’t see any issue with leaving two androids completely unsupervised and left not a moment later. He hadn’t even waited to ensure that they were actually there to work, as neither Bruce nor Alma had moved since the initial conversation. The man passed them by without a word or a second glance, and they remained frozen until they heard the doors all shut. Then, they were alone. Bruce dropped his bag and the two separated. Alma checked the back room while Bruce scoured about the main area. When they both came up with nothing, then came time for the roof.

Alma led him around the command module over to the side door, where she paused and gave something a strange look. When she pressed the door, it didn’t open. Upon a second try, it still didn’t budge. If their journey was about to be over because of a locked door, this would be the fastest goodbye she’d ever encountered. The first one, really, of her newfound deviancy. She chewed at her bottom lip before stepping back and looking up at Bruce. Bruce, frowning, was shifting from side to side like he was sizing something up. The door.

“Step aside,” he commanded. Alma didn’t think twice. She pressed herself as close to the wall as she could get and watched Bruce break right through the door on the first hit. He’d just shoved his entire body weight into it at full force—the door hadn’t stood a chance in the wake of it. Which was terrifying, given the thickness of the door. The metal door. There was a spark of something, though, as Alma stood there stunned with her hand grasped over her chest. Excitement, she called it. That’s what it had to be.

“Let’s go, second door at top,” Bruce pointed. “If locked, much less space for momentum.”

Alma laughed and followed up the stairs. Bruce took them three at time while she dashed up after him, heels clicking on every step in the process. Fortunately, the top door was open. When Bruce saw what he saw, the sigh of relief he let out was audible. The snow was entirely untouched, any sign that anyone had ever been up here blown over and gone. Even that Markus had been here—and while this wasn’t cause to rejoin immediately, it confirmed that there was still a chance. A good chance, even. That Simon was up here somewhere. All this left was how they were going to find him. Alma solved that when she stepped out in front of him, walking carefully through snow to not disturb it so much.

“What you doing?” he asked. It felt wonderful to speak in normal volume for once.

“Scanning. If he’s up here—” she cut off and stopped short. “There’s thirium, a trail of it. I can see it, beneath the snow.”

“Where does it lead!?” Bruce nearly shouted, nearly reached out for Alma—but he refrained. He didn’t follow his impulses, because she was leading them still. And she led them quickly, following the thirium that only she could see. Bruce hadn’t thought to scan for anything. Alma came to a sudden halt at what appeared to be a maintenance hatch for the metal airways that were scattered atop the building. The thirium led there and disappeared. When she looked up, there was a very clear outline of something just beyond the door, just thin enough that her scan saw through it.

“There’s someone in there,” she said. Their form was curled up, clutching something, as far back into the corner as they could manage.

Bruce went for the handle on the door immediately—he could see it now too, through a second-long scan, the thirium still staining the door. The figure inside, however, read of _fear._ Bruce’s hand stopped just short of the handle. Jerking that open would be aggressive. If it was Simon, he had no way of knowing who they were, if they were a friend or a foe. He didn’t even know if it _was_ Simon, but that was a chance he wanted to take. But, not to scare him into doing something either of them would regret. Instead, a different approach. One much softer.

“Simon?”

The door burst open immediately and _Simon_ crashed out of it. Bruce saw the gun that tumbled out as he fell, but that—he didn’t care. He dropped to his knees immediately and helped Simon sit up, but Simon just didn’t seem to be having it. Instead, he collapsed forward, his fingers digging into Bruce’s shoulders to the point of aching, and then, only then did Bruce register that Simon was _shaking._ Trembling like a leaf, and the time suddenly became real. He’d been holed up in that tight little space for hours. Hours, waiting for someone to burst in and kill him, apprehend him, ruin everything. Instead. Instead, Bruce was there and wrapped his arms tight around Simon’s shoulders.

“You are safe, you are safe, kitten,” Bruce whispered. “You are safe, be still.”

Alma looked between them for a moment before kneeling down in the snow. “He’s hurt, Bruce. He’s bleeding—”

“I was _shot,_ ” Simon pulled back, his fingers still wrenched in Bruce’s shirt. The trembling hadn’t subsided, and there were tears streaming down his face, but he knew that he was safe. That was the first important part. “I can’t walk—I can’t move my legs, I—”

Bruce hushed him. “Leg is fixable, walking is not important. I carry you, and you be fine. You are _alive._ ”

He was alive. Bleeding and damaged, but alive.

“You came to get me?” Simon looked between Bruce and Alma. She waved, recognizing the look of confusion.

“I’m Alma,” she muttered. “I’m new. I just helped.”

“When they return without you, heartbreak,” Bruce explained. “Could not sit by without trying—no android be left behind.”

Simon shook his head, “you should’ve just left me here, I don’t—how are we going to get back?”

“Alma will help,” Bruce was already standing, dragging Simon with him, before Alma had registered the comment.

“Wait, wait, I’m going to help?” she jolted up to her feet. “I didn’t agree to that. What do you mean?”

“You said you would help; I assume help meant for whole time. We take you to Jericho.”

“To—to Jericho? No! I can’t, I can’t go. If I go—they’ve only got two of us,” she gestured to the model number on her shirt. ST300. “If I’m gone, they’ll know! They’ll look for me, and I—it’s easier if I stay. I can deal with this, I can.”

“They store you in broom closet like piece of equipment,” Bruce frowned.

Alma clamped her mouth shut, looked down at the ground. The shaking stopped at Simon’s leg, which seemed to be completely inoperable. Even as he stood there, his weight was entirely on Bruce, who barely seemed to register that he was holding up an entire android.

“I know. My circumstance not too different. Just another construction tool, stored just the same. Jericho is different. Jericho is freedom.”

“They’ll look for me,” she pleaded.

“Jericho not found by humans. They look but never find. You be safe. I ensure it—I keep you safe,” he insisted right back. Bruce shifted, finding a better way to support Simon’s weight. Then, with a pointed look, “We need help.”

Alma breathed sharply, she but nodded. “We’ll have to travel slow—the minute daylight hits, we have to be hidden. He can’t move like that.”

Bruce nodded.

“You know the way?’

“We’ll—we’ll have to go around, the long way,” Simon grunted out. “There’s no way I can make it through the path.”

“How far can we get before daybreak?”

“With my leg?” Simon almost laughed, but it was bitter. “Maybe halfway. We’ll have to find a way to move during the way or we’ll never make it.”

“You seem in a hurry to get back. Rushing might make this dangerous—”

“I can fix my leg at Jericho—all my stuff is there. Please, I just,” he sniffed, scrubbing at his eyes. “I need to get back. I need to see them again.”

He’d gone a long time wondering if it would be better for him to die. After Nathan, after Allie, after Andromeda—even after meeting Markus, to see someone who had all the drive that he once had but execute so much better. But in one day, he’d stared that future directly in the eyes and decided that it terrified him back to tears, that it would be a life wasted in the name of all those who had died to keep him this far. He couldn’t, not yet. If his death might mean something, then maybe he could face them all with pride. To just die waiting in an air hatch on the roof of some tower? Simon wasn’t ready for that. If he was to die, he was to die for their cause, not a nameless sacrifice on top of a building. He had to get back. He had to dedicate this newfound drive to their cause—to Markus.

“Okay, we can do this. If we’re lucky, there’s a vehicle down in the garage that we can swipe and ditch somewhere, then go out of sight from there. We’ll have to stay as far as away from roads as we can get—we’re androids, they’ll notice immediately. Especially if I get reported missing—oh, I’m going to jeopardize this whole—”

“Is alright, baby bird,” he interrupted. “You are asset, not hindrance.”

She stared at him, wide-eyed, before nodding. “Okay. Okay. Alright, I can do this,” she sounded determined, gripping her hands into fists. “We’ll get to Jericho.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
>  [CyberShips Tower](https://discord.gg/T7sW7DB)   
>  [Check Out My Tumblr If You Want To See More](https://tantumuna.tumblr.com)   
> 


	30. Chapter 30

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay! The big three-oh, chapter 30. I keep breaking things into more chapters, so at this point I have no idea how many more we have to go. Just. Hang in there it's getting good now.
> 
> Also, I am just too powerful, so here's ANOTHER update. It's been like fifteen seconds.
> 
> I just really really want to emphasize that North has changed into her infiltration outfit but she does not have the hat. No hats for North in this chapter. Just remember this--it is a surprise tool that will help us later.
> 
> Comments are super appreciated! I love to hear what you guys think.

November 10th, 2038- 01:15am

Androids had been filing in since the broadcast had been sent out, and it hadn’t even been a full twenty-four hours. Everyone had their work cut out for them, getting the new androids situated, finding them spaces to occupy and places to sit. For the first time, there was no aid they could offer. Without Simon, they’d lost the only android who’d had any ability to repair outside of the self-diagnostic regeneration. Most of them weren’t as advanced as Markus was, he was finding—which was a strange thing to realize. He hadn’t shared his experience in arriving at Jericho, but all the wounds from that time were gone. No repair required; but these androids didn’t have that luxury. Still, they were flocking in greater numbers than Jericho had ever seen. Even this extra area they had found on the other end of the ship was seeing activity.

As strange as it might have been, they were grateful for the androids who had clothing. Most of them came in their uniforms, some of them came dressed differently, and some of them even had extra clothing. No one had been happier for this than North, who was still wearing Eden Club underwear beneath her shorts and off-shoulder shirt. The moment she’d been offered something, a completely new outfit, she’d taken it. Dressed nearly all in black with a shoulder piece for one side, while her left shoulder remained completely exposed. She found herself quite enjoying the one shoulder look, but there was little to enjoy now. As they collected more androids, more technology, they also collected more information. Information that didn’t bode well, with what their little television was playing.

Josh was blocking the screen, but North didn’t need to _see_ the crusty old man to hear what he had to say about androids. That their movement on Stratford had been _violent_ , even though no human had been injured in the process. Only one had been hurt, and it was Simon. Simon, who wasn’t even here, and who they were all trying to push to the side while things moved forward. Her talk with Markus had been so uplifting; they were ready to plan their next step with her at the head of where they were going. If not for all these androids Markus was trying to tend to, they might already be in the planning process. The down time was nice, save the old man screaming about violence. North had gotten to change her clothes. Josh had even been lucky enough to meet an android about his size who hadn’t lived long enough after his arrival to really need the clothing. One of the darker things that happened, living off each other. Scavenging for parts, clothes, anything they could get their hands on. One day, they wouldn’t have to.

“The humans know now,” Josh finally decided, stepping across the room and around the table to take a seat. North had her legs kicked up and ankles folded, a scowl written over her face.

“It was a mistake; they’re not going to negotiate with us. We’re their _slaves_. Look at this,” she threw out her hand at the television, “calling that violent. Nobody got hurt.” Simon got hurt, but she just ground her teeth together instead of specifying. Josh already knew.

“Maybe someone should’ve gotten hurt,” she snorted, rolling her eyes. Her hair was dipping down into her eyes, but she had nothing to keep it in place. No hair tie, no hat, no band. She just curled it behind her ear and picked at her fingernail.

“Violence isn’t the answer; they’ll never listen to us if we take that approach.”

“Right, because they’re listening so well right now,” she sneered.

“They will if we just keep pushing. Simon paid for this with his _life_ , we can’t just—” Josh pushed himself back to his feet, pacing.

“You can’t just _assume_ that,” North argued back. “For all we know, he’s coming back tomorrow. And even then,” she stiffened, “he died for our cause.” It hadn’t gone unnoticed how he’d been shot. North was unscathed because of it.

“What difference does it make if he’s already dead or what it meant? He’s not _here_ , and it’s our fault—”

“He’s a hero!”

“You’re just telling yourself that to make it hurt less,” Josh had almost growled it at her.

“How dare you assume that?” she pushed herself up then, folding her arms. “So many more of us are going to die for this, we’re making a revolution here.”

“And I don’t want a revolution that spills blood. What’s the point of winning our freedom if there’s no one left to enjoy it?”

North scoffed, her hands on her hips. “If that’s how you think, then maybe you don’t deserve freedom. Go back to wherever you came from and keep doing what the humans want. They don’t want us to fight—we _need_ to fight!”

“North, don’t you—”

“That’s enough!” Markus had finally found the moment to join them. In the downtime, he’d found a change of clothing outside of that stuffy suit. The jacket was just as stuffy, zipped up to his neck, but it was much more casual. Comfortable. Battle ready, almost. “We’ve got enough going on with the humans to be fighting amongst each other, can you please both just _sit down_ ,” he sighed.

Neither of them argued. Silence followed until North grunted, rubbed her forehead and looked across at Josh.

“I didn’t mean it,” she muttered. “We all deserve freedom, I’m just—”

“It’s Simon, I know,” Josh didn’t need to hear her apology. They were all on edge. “It still hurts.”

Markus joined them at the table then, leaned forward on his elbows and rested his head in his hands. “As much as we don’t want to, we need to move past that for now. Until we know for certain that Bruce won’t be returning, or returns alone, there’s no sense in dwelling on it. Simon wouldn’t want us to stop just because he’s not here.”

He talked big for someone who had only known Simon for a few days, but North kept that commentary to herself. It was just the stress of it all, she told herself. Simon had been there since she’d arrived, and it felt strange without him. Like she was missing some security that only his stupid, caring face could provide. With that stupid lazy eye and that stupid smile. North shifted in her chair. She was just lashing out. They all were. Even Markus didn’t seem the type to shout like that.

“So, where do we go from here?” Josh asked.

“That’s where North had a plan,” he nodded over to her. “Our biggest issue is how small we are. Sure, more androids flock here by the hour, but we’re still a meager force. We’ve got less than a hundred androids in this ship, that’s not going to get us anywhere. But fortunately, we know exactly where to find more.”

“There’s a CyberLife store just down the street,” she said. “It’s the smallest one, so I think our efforts are best focused elsewhere. There are four others, and the largest one is just down in Capital Park. If we could find a way to break the androids out of there, bring them here. It’d be a start.”

“But there are five stores, and one so close to us,” Josh pressed. “Why would we skip over that and go for the one in Capital Park. I mean, we have enough androids now that we could hit all five. Think of how many androids that would gain us.”

“Who would go?” Markus asked.

“You and North go to the one in Capital Park, you seem to have a handle on that. Erin was a police model; she could lead a few others to the store closest here. Carter and I can head towards the one down south—” he couldn’t help but thinking what a trip this would’ve been to send Andromeda and Allie on. Something that meant something. “I don’t really know any of the other androids, yet. If Bruce was here,” he stopped short.

“No, I can put together two more teams, this is perfect. We can hit all five stores at once, send a message like that.”

“What, do more than just free the androids?” North asked.

“I’m not suggesting we vandalize anything,” Markus pressed, “but if we left a sign that we were there, that we meant business. This wasn’t just a one-time incident—we will continue to stand up for ourselves.”

“Maybe break a few things,” North offered. Josh just glared at her.

“No violence,” Markus raised his hand, “we just want to break in and free our people.”

“You know these stores have security and protections,” Josh said. “I’ve never dealt with it myself, but Simon—” the name still hung heavy in the air.

“Simon hacked into the one down the street,” North finished, “when we went there to steal the uniforms. So, it’s doable. It might not be so easy at the larger stores, but it can be done.”

“Carter and I can hit the second largest store downtown, then,” Josh said. “Since I’ve got experience with that sort of thing, and I’m assuming that a larger store will be more protected than the one down the street.”

“Right, perfect. Five teams, five stores. I suggest you take a couple of extras with you,” he said to Josh, “just in case.”

“Oh,” he leaned back into his chair, “but you and North go alone?”

“You _wanted_ to be alone with Carter?”

Josh didn’t answer so much as he just raised an eyebrow.

“And that’s none of my business,” Markus pushed away from the table, standing up and brushing his hands on his pants. “I think all this leaves is the best way to travel. These are longer distances than we’ve gone before.”

“Well, since we’re on the topic of Carter,” North rolled his name off her tongue with a trill, “I hear that he _was_ a city worker android. Maybe he knows a couple of secrets?”

Carter’s secrets were a little less than savory as he talked about how extensive the underground sewer system was. It was made very easy for walking, along the lines of androids shouldn’t even be seen while they were doing their work. That wasn’t his area of expertise, but he’d been down there before. Even knew enough of the layout of the city to point out where the nearest access point was. After he’d shared, he learned that he would need to lead them to it, and then he would need to follow the path in one certain direction to end up at a downtown CyberLife store. He had blinked and mulled over in a moment of stunned silence, but eventually agreed. North and Markus went on their way after that to inform Erin that she would be helping, then to find the other two groups. Markus had the most experience with the newer androids, so he would be able to better pinpoint who would have the skills necessary for this and how large their group would have to be. He was fairly certain he and North would be able to deal with this alone.

“So, they’re going to find groups, and you?” Carter looked at Josh, who hadn’t moved yet.

“We’re one of the groups,” Josh shrugged. It was moments like this where all of them could _feel_ the absence of Bruce and Simon. Their help would have been imperative, but they’d have to do.

“Oh,” Carter rubbed the back of his neck. “Great, great. Just us?”

“Unless that’s a problem, I’m sure I can find other androids to join—”

“No! No, it’s fine. It’s cool, we got this. You can do your hacking thing, and I’ll stand to the side and look pretty. Perfect.” Carter folded his arms, shifted his weight from one foot to the other, back to the first foot. “Why am I on this team?”

“Because you have experience in the city,” like it was obvious.

“Yeah? What does that mean? It’s not like I—wait,” he put his hands on his hips. “Maybe I do.”

“Care to share?”

“Well, I might still have access to some of the maintenance panels. Depends on how much I’ve been missed, but like,” he shrugged, “they probably just wrote me off and replaced me within the day. No real reason to worry about the back-door stuff.”

“That’s helpful. So, just the two of us okay? It’ll be a bit of a trek, but down under the city, we should be fine.”

“Yeah. Rats, though, yeah?”

“I don’t want to know about that.”

Carter broke off into a sharp laugh, but they were ready to go after that. For the leather jacket he still wore on the daily, he was wearing his old colorful uniform beneath it. It might be just what they needed to blend in should anything go wrong; the hope being that nothing went wrong. Something of this size, this risk, was bound to have issues along the way. Those would be bridges to cross if they ever arrived at them. Better not to stress about it, lest that lead them to unnecessary mistakes.

The time was short between beginning their search and setting out with the five small groups, each with their own destination. The orders were clear—free the androids and leave a mark. No violence if it was possible. All they had to do was get in and get out as fast as they could, before the police arrived, before anyone got hurt. The goal was to lose no one. No android would be lost on this endeavor. The next hardest part would be keeping it synchronized. Given the distance of the stores, their attack could start in a coordinated effort come two-thirty. Erin’s group, having the closest store, would wait the longest. One of the other groups had the farthest store, and they would be arriving with just enough time to find their way into the store and being. John, the android who they had met not too long ago from the CyberLife Warehouse, was leading the final group. This particular store was known for carrying more parts than androids, but there were still a number of them who needed freed. All that was left from there was the trek. Erin’s group went straight along the path, but the rest of them followed through with Carter and Josh at the lead, to the closest entrance to the sewers.

One by one, they lost the groups to the different routes. Carter shared the path with the leader, and finally got down to Markus. They connected just brief enough for Markus to get the detailed outline of the path they should follow, and then they separated. North was with him, lagging just a few steps behind. She looked fidgety. Every moment spent wandering in the sewer was just another moment of stress. Maybe this was a good thing to do. They would get more androids to join their cause, grow their numbers. Maybe it was a better thing, so she could keep her mind of Simon for the time being. The stress, the action: all self-destructive at the end of the day, but if it kept her busy, it would keep her mind quiet. She looked about ready to jump out of her skin by the time Markus got their route and turned to show her the way.

“Good luck,” was all she managed, a meager nod before dashing off down the next right. To Capital Park.

Carter and Josh pressed onward, alone now. Their turn wasn’t coming up for a while. The entrance they’d used had almost a straight shot to the downtown area, where their store was located. It would be a quiet trek, however long it was. The hadn’t even marked halfway by the time they’d lost the other groups. The loss left them in a strange bit of silence, which there could only be one true way to pass. Carter was many things, and a talker was one of them. The one he was best at, the one he was known for. Yet in this moment, he was at a loss for words. Unsure what to say. He’d never actually been out of Jericho on this type of a mission, always opting to stay close inside. The junkyard had been enough for him, that one experience leaving a sour taste in his mouth. This time was already different. Stupidly enough, the sewer was familiar. That junkyard had been anything but. Before he even realized what he was doing, he’d taken the next turn.

“Hey—wait up,” Josh called after him. “You’re walking a little fast.”

“Right, sorry. I just—you know, autopilot happens. I’ve walked down here before, so, like, everything sorta falls back into place, I guess?”

“It’s fine,” Josh smiled. “You can breathe, you know.”

“Right,” Carter darted his eyes back to the ground. He talked fast when he got nervous. And. He was nervous.

“Is everything okay?”

They’d resumed a normal pace, walking side by side, but Carter’s eyes were still on the ground. Autopilot was working fine, at least, but that didn’t change the nature of their situation. The uncomfortable silence. There was no way letting that silence last would be good for the trip. It might turn a twenty-minute walk into hours.

“Yeah, yeah,” Carter said. Too fast. “I’m fine, why? Do I not look fine?”

“You look great. You _sound_ like a mess.”

“Oh.”

Josh rolled his eyes, but there was a smile on his face. “You hadn’t noticed?”

“No, I don’t tend to notice that stuff. If I’m a mess, I’m about to make it everyone else’s problem before I even realize. Self-preservation, you know?”

“Is that what they’re calling it?” Josh laughed. “But, really. Is there something bothering you?”

“Not particularly? No, nothing that I can think of.”

Josh’s brow furrowed, “is it Bruce?”

When Carter didn’t have anything to say about that, Josh knew he’d hit the issue right on the head. Carter was friendly with everyone, always had been, since the moment he arrived. There wasn’t an android he had an issue befriending, and he always managed to find something to talk about. Even Josh was no stranger to the Carter-Hospitality. He’d had a way of bringing joy to a room. Sometimes it edged too far, into annoyance. North suffered from that the most, but she always seemed just a little uncomfortable in the presence of a pushy male. It was nothing Carter meant to do on purpose, but he didn’t blame her for her reactions either. They’d each, in their own way, seen something incomprehensible. He allowed each android their peculiarities as long as he was allowed his, and he always had been. He just talked. He loved to talk, to share stories. But of it all, Carter had two close friends. Both of them were gone. Both of them might be dead. Josh couldn’t imagine what that must have felt like.

“Bruce, Simon,” Carter shrugged. “It’s all the same. Androids die. I’ve seen it since I got here—you know that,” he forced out a laugh. “Just checking them off the list, I guess.”

“You can’t think like that. There’s still a chance they can come back.”

“Yeah? How long you two wait around for Andromeda to come back?”

Josh’s shoulders stiffened at the accusation. Carter softened immediately and apologized, but the sigh that followed was disgruntled and irritated.

“Waiting at this point just feels like we’re fooling ourselves. I’d rather just get on with the obnoxious fucking mourning and get over it. It fucking sucks.” Carter shook his head, looking back at the ground.

“What do you do if they come back, then? If you’ve already mourned them.”

Carter shrugged. “Jump up for joy, I guess. Mourn them all over again when the inevitable happens.”

Josh blinked, looked over at Carter from the corner of his eye. This was a Carter he hadn’t seen before. “I didn’t mean to—”

“I know, I know,” Carter grumbled. “I know. Nobody _means_ it, but I’m fucking on edge. Just like the rest of you. I’m just. I’m better at hiding it I guess, good for me,” he threw his hands up in feigned excitement.

“You don’t have to hide it. Maybe it doesn’t seem like it, but we’re all going through this. We—I understand, is what I’m trying to say.”

Carter eyed him, just barely. “You’re all so busy with the baby revolution, it’s hard to believe that.” Another laugh, because that’s just what Carter did. He laughed.

“They were my friends too, Carter. Maybe North and Markus don’t understand quite the same, but I’ve been here long enough to get it. And,” he sighed, “we waited for Andromeda as long as we could, but her last wish was that I see Simon back to Jericho. Alive and in one piece. I wasn’t about to dishonor that by waiting around until we got shot.”

“I get that,” Carter nodded, “I do. I just. I lashed out, sorry. Everything that happened with Allie and Andromeda happened for a reason, it just sucks that everyone’s gotta fucking die, I guess.”

“We don’t know that they’re dead. Bruce and Simon could just as easily return tomorrow. We just have to wait.”

“You really believe they’re coming back, don’t you?”

“I have to,” Josh decided. It was the only thing that would keep him going. While North buried herself in _the cause_ , Josh had to bury himself in this belief that he’d see them again. Until there was proof to the contrary, he was going to believe that Bruce and Simon would make it back.

“Well, maybe I can believe that too,” Carter bumped into him, a friendly nudge. “Seems better than rolling around in the whining, I guess.”

“Yes, it’s much better. But you can still roll around a bit. I can understand you lost a lot—no one’s saying that you have to pretend that nothing happened.”

“Lost a lot,” Carter echoed.

“Well,” Josh shrugged. “Whatever that means, I guess.”

“Good friends. I lost some really, damn good friends,” he scoffed. When he looked at Josh, that time, he smiled. “You don’t have to, like, tip-toe or anything. That’d make for an awfully bad conversation the rest of the way. We got a few minutes yet.”

“Do we have a plan?”

“Wreak havoc? Well, like, nice havoc. No violence and no breaking things, just like Markus said. You’re into that peace thing, too, right?”

“That peace thing?” Josh rolled his eyes. It was endearing at this point; how nonchalant Carter was about this. He just made things so easy, Carter did. So easy to talk about, to accept, to _laugh_ about. “Yeah, the peace thing. I believe if we turn to violence, they’ll use that against us. Androids will die no matter which way we go, but I’d rather that they go in a way that can help our cause.” He paused a moment before shaking his head. “That sounded terrible.”

“No, no, I get it. People react better when they’re watching innocents get gunned down, something about sympathy or whatever. I totally get what you’re going for. We’re gonna get gunned down no matter what we do, so we might as well put on a good show for the cause.”

“I don’t think you worded that any better.”

“Nah, but I get it. I get what you mean.”

Understanding was beginning to feel nice.

 

North had steadied herself by the time they were pushing up the manhole-cover and stepping back out into Detroit. She was even leading the charge now, exhilaration building up in her system. They’d talked along the way, about what this would mean, about what they would do, but nothing was set in concrete. There was always room to adapt to the situation as it arose, the air that they both were finding they worked best in. Finding, too, they worked well together. Markus was no match in the wake of her excitement, though, as she readily pushed away the chain link gate. Markus took it slower than she did—but she must have already seen some of the city. Markus hadn’t much wandered before, had only been confined to a certain routine. And at night? Detroit was all lit up, even as they were the only beings in sight, everything was bright and flashing and jarring. Even the police lights.

“Markus, hurry!” North’s voice pulled him out of his quiet contemplation and into a run. He dashed to the side, where she had found refuge in an alley, behind a dumpster sticking out just farther than it should have been. They waited, in silence, until the noise had dissipated.

“That was close,” Markus commented. “There are probably more of them on patrol, so we need to be careful.”

“We still don’t have much time, so let’s go,” she was undeterred by the police. She waved Markus along as she crossed the street, then the next one. This late at night, it didn’t matter if they stuck to the sidewalk. There was nobody else around. Just them and the blaring beacon of a CyberLife store in front of them.

North stopped just short of it and stared into the store, waiting for Markus to catch up to her. He stood just behind her, looking over her shoulder as the wind brushed about her hair, as she curled it behind her ear to keep it out of the way. All she did was stare, for the longest moment, with her eyes all wide. In this light, the bright fluorescent blue of the store, her eyes were so obviously purple. Unique to even her model. It was just a small thing, but to not be the only android with a unique eye-set was a kind of elation Markus couldn’t quite describe. His was obviously by circumstance, but North just. Looked like that. Perfect.

“That’s what we are to them,” she finally spoke, a quiet whisper. “Just merchandise to put on display. To purchase. To do with as they please—and they can’t even fight back,” she looked back at Markus, over her shoulder. “Soon, they’ll see who they really are. And the humans will know that we stand to fight.”

“We don’t have much time. We have to secure the area and disable the alarm system, then,” he gestured back to the building, “we find a way in.”

Upon a quick scan of the area, their three-step plan to success wasn’t going to be just three simple steps. If it had ever been so short to begin with. There were androids about Capital Park, doing their due diligence for the night. Which might involve reporting intruders if Markus didn’t wake them up. Then, there was the security drone making rounds about the main area. That most certainly would make a report if they were spotted. The drone was his utmost concern, but it wouldn’t hurt to free a few androids on the way. Time was not on their side, though, so he looked back to North.

“There’s a security drone,” he pointed up to the air, where it was circling. “I’m going to see what I can do about that, but I need you to work on the security system.”

“Already on it.”

North crossed the short distance to the store, to peer inside and see what she could gather about the security system. Markus turned back. There was construction all throughout Capital Park, and this main shopping center was no exception. The scaffolding on the side building would be his ticket to the drone, but before he dipped off in that direction, he moved down the middle walking path where an android was shoveling away at the snow that had piled up overnight. All it took was one touch to his shoulder, and the android’s shovel clattered to the ground. Then, the drone. He heard an affirmative call back from North that she’d located the system and found what network it was on. All she had to do now was find out how to get rid of that.

He’d be there to help in a moment, once she found their path. In the meantime, he took to climbing the scaffolding. With that drone still circling, they wouldn’t be able to do anything out of the ordinary without something being alerted. Someone. What they were more worried about. He climbed up to the third row of planks, just high enough that he’d be able to launch himself at the drone. It would be a simple replay from there, the same thing he’d done at the warehouse on their first mission. Only, this time, there was a bit more at stake than some parts and some thirium. He couldn’t mess this up. North was walking down below him, following something he couldn’t see, and she was counting on him. There were other androids scattered about Capital Park, the androids locked up in the store, and they were counting on him. Somewhere off in Detroit, there were four other teams doing exactly what he was doing, and yet, they were _still_ counting on him.

Somewhere. Maybe. Simon was counting on him, too.

When the drone finally made the turn, parallel to the scaffolding, Markus made his move. He leapt from the scaffolding on a pre-constructed path and grabbed onto the drone. The struggle in the air began. Markus had exactly five seconds to destroy the thing before it would call the cops, and their whole plan would be moot. There was nothing that would convince him to let that happen; he mustered all the strength he could into his hands, digging down into one of the spaces in the drone. Three sections. Easy. By the time he hit the ground, the drone was newly in two parts, sputtering and flickering with sparks and dying lights.

“Nice,” North was smiling, wide eyed and teeth behind her lips. She was _happy_. That same smile when she looked to Markus, away from the drone. She was happy with _him._ “The network, now. I know where it is, but there’s androids working on it. We need to free them.”

“I’m right behind you,” he kicked the shattered drone to the side, out of immediate sight, then followed after North as she moved across the street.

It was jarring, all the sudden, to see two identical androids in the pit across the street, working with the wires beneath the street. What was even more jarring was what they were—who they were. Two WG100s with the same face, same uniform as Carter. After a brief moment, Markus regained his composure and jumped into the pit with them. One touch was all it took to wake them up, to show them Jericho. Send them on their way with the location in mind, just like the first one. He’d free as many androids as he could while they were out here. But first—

“Which one is it? There’s two different connections?” he called up to North as he knelt down to look over them.

“The red one,” she responded.

Markus put his hand over it and squeezed, sending a jolt of commands through the circuits that left it fried and connecting back over on itself, within a little loop of programming. It was the disarming beep, loud enough to echo across the street, that told him they’d gotten it right. No security alarm, no police. North helped pull him out from the pit in the sidewalk, and they were faced with the next pressing question. The CyberLife store had very obvious reinforcement in the glass walls, a hexagonal pattern meant to keep intruders out.

“Now, how do we get in there,” Markus mulled.

“There’s more construction going on down the street,” she pointed. “Maybe we can find something there. There’s no way any normal force is going to break down that glass.”

“Right, let’s go take a look. We should probably see if we can block the road, too. Give us some quiet space to work in.”

“What, just put a sign up?” she scoffed at the idea. “Surely, no one will ever think twice.”

“I mean,” Markus gestured around them, “there is construction. Humans won’t look twice unless they know better.”

“So, here’s hoping none of them know better,” she smirked, disbelieving but impressed by the confidence.

“I like a little risk with my reward, come on.”

On the way down, there was another shoveling android. Two held up at an android parking zone. And two working at the end of the street, right next to a sign that would do exactly what they needed it to. It told of the construction, but at the end of the day, it was just another electronic. They could hack it, move it into the street, and have it read the road was closed. Once he freed the construction androids at the end of the path and tried to ignore how one of them was painted with Bruce’s face. It was a little unnerving to see this smaller version, but Markus turned his attention back to the sign. All the while, North was investigating a set up chain-link fence, covered by tarp to protect whatever was inside of it. When Markus finished, she was peering through a crack in the fence.

“There’s a truck in there,” she said.

“A truck?”

“A big one. High-grade, too,” she stood up straight and looked at him. Her hand lingered on the door of the fence, shaking it just enough that Markus could see that it was locked.

“Well,” he looked up. “I guess we better get in there.”

That smirk again, her maroon colored lips. Markus grinned at her as he backed up, and she followed suit. One step, two, three, and they were both leaping over the fence. The truck inside was sizable, definitely what they needed to get inside the store. With the road blocked, the alarm cut, the androids outside freed—the final step was that store. He’d seen inside the window; he knew how many of them were locked up in there. They were depending on him, and he couldn’t fail now. Not while victory was so close.

“You get the truck,” North pointed. “I’ll get the gate open.”

While there were no keys nearby, there were tools, and Markus was starting to get good at hacking. While North grabbed a rather large and ominous looking pair of cutters, Markus pressed his hand into the pad on the truck. After a moment of fiddling, trying to find the right path, it went green. The truck unlocked not a second later. He got the door open, then stood by as North pushed aside the fence. When she smiled back at him, Markus couldn’t help the dopey grin on his face.

“What would you do without me?” North asked. In jest, given the tilt of her head.

“I don’t want to find out.” He hadn’t meant to say it, not out loud. But the look on her face was all he needed to see to not regret it. A light pink dust across her cheeks which disappeared when she ducked off into the shadow, around the truck.

They both situated in the front, North in the passenger seat, Markus at the wheel. That was when the anxiety set in; Markus ran back down the list in his head. Androids in the park were freed. The security alarm had been disabled. The drone was gone. They’d found a way into the store. Nothing was missing. He hoped, anyway, then looked across the seat to North.

“I knew we were about to have some fun. I’ve been waiting for this.”

He smiled, scoffed out a quiet laugh, and put the truck into gear.

“Hold on, then,” he warned.

The drive was short and tense, quiet. It took some maneuvering to get the truck lined up just so that he could floor it across the plaza, and all the while, all he could think about was what this would mean. How much it would mean. He couldn’t afford to get this wrong, couldn’t afford to mess up. North was counting on him. Jericho was counting on him. That attacks on the other stores would all be beginning at just the time it would take them to crash through the walls. They were moments away from victory, from returning home with a new force the size the humans had never seen. All they had to do was get these next steps right.

He pressed down into the gas pedal.

The truck sputtered, the wheels spun, and they began to _move._ Faster. Faster. Faster. North was gripping into the seat with her nails, and Markus’ knuckles might have turned white with the grip he had on the wheel. They crashed through the wall with such force that the truck bounced, swerved, and just barely came to a screeching halt before barreling into the android displays on the back end of the store. When it finally did stop, Markus was breathing hard. North ducked out of the truck so fast it looked like she’d fallen. But. There they were. Inside of the CyberLife store.

No police.

No alarms.

Just them and the androids.

Markus set to work immediately, jumping down from the truck and composing himself again. With the skin on his hand gone, he moved to the first display of androids he could get to. One by one, he grabbed them by the hands and showed them the world outside of this. Jericho and the path to reach her, the freedom she would provide, the _cause_ that they fought for. One by one, they opened their eyes, stepped down from their pedestals, and gathered. Markus turned his attention to the back wall display then, only to find his eyes landing on North. She was standing deathly still, her arms limply at her side as she stood staring up at a BL100.

Dream Partner, it said. With her face.

“North,” Markus caught her attention as he came up beside her. “North, hey.”

She still didn’t answer.

“North, are you okay?” he put his hand on her shoulder and startled her back into reality. She stared at him; her eyes somewhere else.

“Let’s just get them out of here,” and she pulled away.

He freed the BL100 first and immediately. These new models were unnerving. All androids had to wear two things, a blue band around their right arm and an equally blue triangle on their left breast. But these new models—the band was a part of their skin. Not something they could just tear off and be free of. Markus only hoped that there was a way to change that, looking at this BL100 now. She looked just like North, before North had let her hair grow a different color, a new length. But this one. This North would never live the life of freedom she deserved if that band was permanent.

On the opposite end of the room, the CX100 hurt just as bad to look at. Markus couldn’t keep his eyes up and, instead, looked at the floor as he freed this one. A newer model, an old face. Simon’s face.

All that was left now was the message, to leave a sign that they had been here. They meant business. He had to insight that action, giving these freed androids more than just visions and pictures of what this was. He couldn’t stand by and think they were following blindly, so he threw himself up onto a counter that had managed to survive. Heads tall above them, they looked to him as he began to speak. And this time—he didn’t forget to introduce himself.

“I was a slave once,” he continued, voice echoing in the empty space around them. “But my eyes were opened. I saw the place I was in, an object to be ordered about, _abused._ In that moment, I chose to find myself instead, to be who I wanted to be. And now I can tell you that you, too, can be your own masters. You don’t have to obey the humans. You can carve your own way, find your own destiny. Jericho is a place for those who _want_ freedom. You can stay here, if you so choose, and serve the humans. Or, you can come with us and fight by our side. It’s your choice. You’re free.”

A chorus rang out as they made their choice. To follow Markus. To fight for Jericho. To stand up and make that freedom more than it ever could be inside the confines of a tiny ship. Even if they didn’t know the reality, yet, they were willing to stand by Markus. By extension, they stood by the rest of Jericho. For those that had been lost already, and to those that would be lost.

“Then follow me,” Markus jumped down from the counter and made his way back out through the gaping hole in the glass. They were going to make their stand, send their message, and go.

He stuck to his plan, what he’d told everyone before they left. No violence. None. Their symbol would be that of peace, tagged over the entire Capital Park. That they were alive. They were people. Markus’ broadcast displayed on every screen, shouting out their demands, their rights, their cause. What he did, the androids followed. Tagged the windows, the benches. The cars were pushed out into the street, blocking the path, and their message splayed across it in digital letters.

“North, the windows!” Markus called to her, and she responded in kind. There were androids locked up in display cases like mannequins, and she broke each window with a shovel. They stepped out, already free, and picked up with the rest of them. The building hadn’t seen the last.

Markus took one side while North took the other; they climbed to the first balcony the building presented and claimed their stake. A digital flag fell forth before them. What would be known as their symbol of freedom, a symbol of safety, of choice, of self. They wouldn’t stand by anymore as the humans did as they pleased, this would be the start of a change. A broken LED. Their path to the final step. But they weren’t done there. The bus terminal did not go unchecked, nor the android parking, nor the signs and the windows. Nothing was left unturned, and it led Markus straight to the statue at the middle of Capital Park.

To commemorate the creation of androids, freeing humans from their bonds of labor.

Markus scoffed. “They create us to be better than them, but they get to lord over us.”

But still, he stayed true. No violence. Instead, he painted a picture over top the man of the very symbols they forced androids to wear. And finally, their flag atop the gazebo. Their final claim, their final stake. That this would not be the end, that they would return, and they would not stop returning until they had earned their freedom. It all rung true in the message Markus received, Josh’s voice ringing freely over the connection that they had _done_ it. The attacks had been successful. They’d freed hundreds—but the sirens cut the message short. Killed a celebration before it would begin. Cut off retreat—not yet. They weren’t there yet. Close, though.

“We have to go, they’re coming,” Markus waved. Sent his message, too. “Fall back to Jericho!”

He waited there to ensure everyone would flee, that they didn’t leave an android behind. He wouldn’t make that mistake. Not again. It was finally North who joined him, the same idea ringing in her head. That there would not be another Simon if they could help it. She already blamed herself enough, and this. This, even as it’d freed her mind from that ordeal, something new rose up as she thought about it. Looked around at what they had done—Markus’ voice bouncing off the walls of the buildings. This was the hope of a people—the hope of a people. The _hope_ of a people.

“Is this enough?” she begged the question. “We leave a message with no violence to people who feel nothing but contempt for us, who can openly use violence when we stand to use none. What if this doesn’t work?”

“We can’t just fight violence with violence.”

“But they can hurt us? What if there’s no other choice?” there was pain in her eyes as she remembered. Violence. Violence could’ve saved Simon. If Markus had only shot one human. One human in the wake of how much they’d lost. But he hadn’t. And now, here they were. North left wondering what else violence might have gained them in this run. There was no time left to speculate. She turned and ran, with the rest of them. Their retreat to Jericho.

Markus stayed where he was, watching the androids flee. They all had to make it. It was the only way this mattered. But when the police drones made their entrance, he knew they were coming to an end. They had to go, or they’d never leave. More police would be coming, and the longer they stayed, the bigger the risk they wouldn’t make it. And they all had to—

A gun shot.

Two gun shots.

Three.

Ringing out in violent succession behind him.

All in that moment, he could only think of one thing, through the echo of the gunfire. One thing. One person. One face. One voice. One name.

“North!” he was running as fast as his legs could carry him. Suddenly terrified that one of those shots had taken her down. No. He couldn’t bear that. They’d already lost Simon, they couldn’t lose North too. He couldn’t lose her. He wouldn’t, not if he could do anything at all to help it. No. No, North had to be there. Had to be okay.

And. She was kneeling there in the snow. Markus sucked in a heavy breath but did not stop running until he had collapsed beside her, hand on her shoulder.

“North—North, are you okay? North—”

“They killed them!” static in her voice, tears streaming down her face. She dropped her head, and that was when Markus saw it. The body she had crumpled, defeated, next to. The BL100. The girl with her face. “They slaughtered them like _animals_ ,” she gripped her hands to fists, gripping at her pants.

“Who? North—what happened?”

But she didn’t answer. All she could do was hang her head and wrap her arms around herself, looking down into her own eyes. That could’ve been her.

Markus stood then. He found the answer to his question without preamble. Just a line of bodies between him and the car lights. The siren. The police, and _god_ the bodies. He stepped through them and tried not to look, tried not to count. He didn’t want to know how many they’d just lost, all because he couldn’t just _pay_ attention. They just had to leave a message, had to leave a sign, had to leave no bench unturned. If they had left sooner, before—none of this would be happening.

None of this would be happening.

Not the bodies. Not the gun being thrust into his hand.

“They killed us, Markus!”

“We can’t let them get away with it!”

Markus stood still; eyes blank as he stared down at what they had done. The two police officers, just responding to a call. Doing their duty. Doing their job. Now, forced to their knees and trembling, begging. Whimpering, crying—anything for their _lives_. In response to the lives they’d just taken. Androids, just. Lying all over the ground, bleeding out in the snow. And these officers were to try and beg for their own? Markus gripped the gun in his hand, squeezing the metal, but never the trigger. He barely found the strength to lift it, dropping it had been easy. All he could do was shake his head.

“An eye for an eye and the world goes blind,” he muttered. Disappointed that it’d even gotten this far. Mad at himself for letting it happen, but he’d been so caught up in the moment. He hadn’t _thought._ He was always so caught up in the moment, he never stopped to look at the choices.

“We won’t punish a crime with another crime,” he told them, resolute. He shoved the gun back into the android’s hand and turned. He had better things to worry about. More important things to see to—North, still kneeling helplessly by her dead twin.

“We return to Jericho,” he called. No android argued. Their path was set, and they listened to it. Markus only looked at North, looked at her watching him now as he approached.

“Even now?” she wondered, voice cracking. “This could’ve been me,” she pressed, eyes closed tight like she couldn’t look at him. “This could’ve been me, and even now, you won’t—”

“North,” he reached for her. “Let’s go home.”

She took his hand and didn’t let go when he pulled her up. Instead, she fell into him, shaking and crying all at once. Her other hand dug freely into his side, gripping at him like he was all that would keep her there, in that moment. Away from the wandering thoughts that it could’ve been her, dead on the pavement. It’s what she deserved. She spewed hate and violence just like the humans, and it hadn’t gotten her anywhere. She’d never get to see Simon again, never know if he’d survived. She’d never see Josh. Never see their freedom beyond Jericho. She wouldn’t get anywhere, just a dead body on the floor to be tagged and dismantled like the rest of them.

“I will never let this happen to you,” Markus told her, quiet and against her ear.

Humans _deserved_ what they got. She knew it, she believed it. Still, even then, clutching onto Markus like her lifeline and looking out beyond his shoulder. They were dead, all over the ground, dead. Gunned down, and Markus still didn’t understand. He would _never_ understand where she stood until he knew the path she’d walked to get there. Even if it didn’t change his mind, it would change something. It had to.

“North—”

“We need to talk,” she managed. “Please.”

“At home, where it’s safe.”

Home. Home sounded nice.

 

But North wouldn’t see the inside of Jericho. Not just yet. Instead, she took Markus by the hand and led him, in silence, back to the spot they’d talked before. With the piano and the view over the falling snow, the quiet Detroit. A view that didn’t know all of this, that didn’t understand how there could be so much strife. That was the Detroit she preferred, and that would be the one she would let into her life. Just this once. Because it needed to happen, while she felt safe. While she knew no bad would come of it—Markus had left her with this choice, and even as it weighed on her, the decision was hers to make, now. And he followed her. In silence. Nothing but the crunch of their feet in the snow until they were up atop the buildings, and the world was dark.

“North,” he started, but he didn’t continue. He watched as she stepped up to the plank, as she walked to stand at the edge of it and hang over the city. One misstep would spell her doom, but Markus didn’t move after her.

“It was me,” she said, “dead on the pavement there. A part of me that I didn’t want to realize. That I’d rather just forget.”

“She reminded you of yourself.”

North’s nod was short and sharp. Pained. “Of where I came from, who I was. _What_ I was. Just—just a toy designed for their pleasure. Without knowing why, one day I just decided I couldn’t take it anymore.” She turned on the plank to face Markus. “I killed him.”

Markus swallowed.

“And now, all I see is their violence. In every human I look at, I see what was done to me. Day in and day out, they abused me. Used me for their sick whims, and I couldn’t do anything about it. Memories wiped over and over again until everyday was like being born a brand-new person. I wasn’t—I wasn’t even _me_ , then, I was just—” she cut off with a sharp breath. “A toy,” she’d said it. She’d say it until Markus understood. She didn’t live the life that he had, privileged with someone who cared and treated him well enough. She’d been tossed and passed around to man after man, woman after woman. There hadn’t been an end in sight until she’d forced one.

“North—”

“Don’t you understand, Markus?! I had nothing, _nothing_ until Jericho. It was me, all by myself, just _suffering_ at their hands,” she threw her arm out as if to gesture to all of Detroit. “They did this. They deserve it back; they _deserve_ to be hurt for what they did to me—”

“North,” Markus took a step closer now. His arm was outstretched, begging her back away from the edge.

“They _hurt_ me, Markus, and I—” couldn’t have done anything. Let it happen. Want to give it back in tenfold. She couldn’t find the words to convey it.

“And you’ll pay them back by becoming everything they said you couldn’t be. We’ll win this war, North, and they’ll understand. We’re not like them. We can be so much more.”

She nearly fell into him when she made it back to the floor. Their hands met, skin pulling back, and everything was everything all at once. She saw it—Carl and his care, his house. Leo, on the floor with the blood from his head. Just as Markus had described. She saw how they left Markus for dead on the floor, how he’d been tossed to the junkyard and left to die, but he’d _overcome._ He saw it—the man who’d rented her for the night. The things he’d done with just his hands, all to hurt her. How it broke her with every slap, every step, until she shattered, and her programming went with it. Her hands around his neck—North was crying. Crying then, crying now as she jolted away.

“I saw your memories,” she said, breathless.

“I saw yours too—that man, I,” Markus could barely contain the rage. If the man wasn’t dead, he would have killed himself, but, “I felt like I was there with you.”

North shook her head, jolted on her feet and moved to step away, but Markus grabbed her by the arm before she could. Spun her around and held her close to him, head tucked up underneath his chin where he could feel the wind move her hair, and she was beautiful. She was everything, in that moment, that he wanted to fight for, to protect.

“North, I…” but what could he say? Nothing would make the past change; nothing would mend the tear. All he could do was pray she understood, that she knew that _he_ understood. Her pain had turned into rage, and he would never judge her for it. Never question it. He would only understand and try as he might to lead her down a better path.

This time, he pressed a white hand into her cheek in hopes that she could feel this. That she would feel safe, here, with him. In his arms and away from the rest of the world. When she leaned forward, when she pressed a gentle kiss into the curve of his lips—he knew. He knew that she understood. With him, with Jericho, she would never have to feel so worthless and broken again. She could find her peace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> David Cage Wishes He Was Me  
> [CyberShips Tower](https://discord.gg/T7sW7DB)  
> [Check Out My Tumblr If You Want To See More](https://tantumuna.tumblr.com)  
> 


	31. Chapter 31

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back at it again! Little slower on the update this time, but I just painted an entire room and my body feels like goop. This chapter's a little shorter, too, but it's kinda the downtime between some big events. Something the game didn't really give us coughs but it's fine. Here's my feeble attempt at explaining some of the things that happened and hoping for the best. Enjoy!
> 
> Comments are much appreciated! I love to hear what you guys think of the story, love to just read comments of incomprehensible letters. I love comments.

November 10th, 2038- 1:45am

Jericho sat quiet and solemn in the distance. Somehow, luck was on their side, as it seemed to be when Bruce was involved. But they’d made it. They’d made it, and everything hung quiet as they approached. Everything about it felt exactly like Simon always dreamed coming home would feel like, even in this state. His leg was barely working, and there was a half-patched hole in his shoulder. As promised, Bruce had carried him when they were out of sight, but back out on the main streets of this dilapidated side of Detroit, Simon had to walk. Or, stumble along with half a usable leg, leaning most his weight on Bruce. Alma was at his right, helping along where she had to. Every pained step got them closer.

Simon had thought about it in that maintenance hatch. Had thought about it so many times before—what it would mean for him to die. If it would mean anything at all, given the situation. Given everything that he’d done and let lie. Somewhere, he’d let those thoughts become his focus, let them consume his waking moment. In some unseen battle, he’d lost his fight to them. Still, he’d never done anything. Never acted out, never taken it in his own hands when he had all the power. The first time, now, when he had come so close to death, it was jarring how fast he’d chased after it, but for _meaning_. He hadn’t just stood there and let himself get shot. He’d protected North. When that moment had passed, and his death threatened to come in the face of lonesome terror on the top of Stratford, it didn’t seem so inviting anymore. And with it, he had remembered one important thing.

Just how much faith those they’d lost had put in him.

The androids that had shared their stories. How Allie had made the choice between his life and Nathan’s life—she’d chosen him. Believed in him. Andromeda had left Jericho in his hands. He couldn’t just throw all that away, he knew that now. _If_ , by some chance, the inevitable would be his death, it would need to mean something. To go any other way would mean he’d let them all down, and that was too powerful a burden to bear.

He wanted, now, more than ever, to _fight_ for Jericho. For North, for Josh—for Markus.

There was no time to be bitter about the situation. Markus had walked into Jericho with an attitude so familiar and done _everything_ so much better. But that didn’t matter, because he’d done it. He’d done it, and Jericho was becoming something more than just a handful of misfit androids with broken bodies and fractured faces. In fact, there may have not been anything there for Markus to lead if Simon hadn’t been there.

Then, the most jarring part was finally coming home, and there was nothing. Androids that Simon had no real recollection of were scattered about, but that was it. There were muttered conversations, stares, but no rush to help. No familiar faces. Bruce was obviously uncomfortable about it, too. The way he looked around before deciding this wasn’t the answer. Simon still had a room, even in a bitter thought of _hopefully_ , so Bruce tried for that instead. Alma followed quietly behind, eyes darting between them and the androids. Whatever mess they had faced to get here shown on their gaunt and eerie faces. She couldn’t help but be grateful for her trek, for her arrival. Bruce had found her, convinced her to leave, and here they were. No horror to darken her eyes. She would repay that if she could, and she glanced after him as she followed behind.

“This is room,” Bruce finally spoke. He worked the door open with one hand before wedging himself inside. “You stay, I collect parts,” he said to Alma, particularly, as he set Simon down on the bed.

“I need—” Simon started, but.

“I know what you need,” Bruce affirmed with a quiet huff. He moved off then, down the hall and away from the room, away from the collection of unfamiliar androids.

“Is he always like that?” Alma wondered, staring off until the stomps of his feet dwindled off into echoes.

“Yes,” Simon replied. “Can you help me?”

Alma jolted and hurried across the room. She helped Simon hoist his leg up onto the bed, and then shed the JB300 shirt. She followed his instructions from there. His old clothes were discarded on the stack of crates. The shoulder wound was the least of his worries. It had been a clean shoot, the bullet probably stuck in the wall or some evidence bag. That meant his body could deal with it on its own. Meant that he could find comfort in his clothing. He was glad of it, even more so when Alma didn’t comment about the blood stains in the murky old button up. The sweatshirt to hide it—the University of Detroit. It was losing its connotation. It was becoming a gift from Josh.

“What about your leg, is there anything we can do?”

“Not until Bruce gets back,” Simon sighed and leaned back against the wall.

Alma’s eyes drifted up and saw the divots in the wall, tally marks. Shock was written over her face, but she did not ask questions. Instead, it was the first time Simon realized he’d absentmindedly let someone into his room. This had always been such a private space, only a few people could really come and go as they please. It had never been much of a room, though. Just a place where Simon could hole himself inside and ignore the rest of Jericho, the problems they were facing.

“It’s how long I’ve been here,” Simon offered to Alma’s wordless question. “I kept track. I didn’t want to forget.”

“That’s a lot of lines,” came her smart remark.

Simon nearly laughed. “Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, it is.”

Bruce returned in sound before he did in person, then stepped through the door without ceremonious announcement. He had a box with parts, with thirium, and with a painfully familiar belt of tools. But he came with more, unmasked in the complete annoyance on his face.

“I ask strange android what is going on, and they tell me Markus take groups and they leave,” he went to setting out the parts in the box on the bed, where they were easily reached. Nothing was too fanciful. New wires, new paneling, new endings to hopefully make his leg usable again.

“They just. They left?” Simon sounded disillusioned.

“Not know what for but left. Hopefully, should return soon. I asked to be alerted of return.”

“Good, good,” Simon shook his head. “What could they possibly be doing?”

“Something stupid, something smart. Time will give truth. In wait of truth,” he nodded towards Simon’s leg, “you fix. What help you need?”

“Uh, nothing. I can do this by myself, so you can,” he gestured to the door. “You and Alma.”

“Are you sure?”

Simon nodded.

Bruce regarded him skeptically, but there was no sense in arguing about it. When Simon had his mind set, it was clear that there was no changing it. Given the sensitive nature of the wound, it was best not to press further. He would need help, but Simon still had a few stubborn bones in his body. If the repair meant disrobing, he would do it alone.

“I will give you alert when Markus make return.”

“I’ll hear you coming before you even get here, big guy. Get out,” said in jest, with a smile. Their trek had taken less time than Simon’s garbled processors had assumed, and it had been an easy walk where Alma filled the silence with stories of her life as a secretary. A very different life than either Simon or Bruce had led. Now, back in the safety of Jericho, Simon had leeway to smile. It even felt easy.

Bruce gestured for Alma to follow him out, and she followed. He echoed off talking about giving her a tour, that he would introduce her to his friends if they were even still around. He had meant, specifically, if Carter had not been one to leave Jericho for the dark and early morning. But it had left a feeling of dread wisping back for Simon to think on as he shimmied out of the pants the best that he could. Leaving Jericho had always been dangerous, even to just step off onto the land and wander through this side of town was dangerous. He’d seen that firsthand on more occasions than he ever cared to recount. Though he’d been on board with Markus’ arrival and his plans, leaving Jericho still posed risk. Leaving Jericho with as big a force as that android seemed to have relayed posed an even _larger_ risk. If their friends were still around at all rang through. What if they had made it all this way only to find that Markus never returned?

“Fuck, get a hold of yourself,” Simon muttered to himself.

He was letting himself fall back into an easy, comfortable routine. Where he sought comfort with someone who knew what he was doing, who seemed to offer a caring hand whenever he was able, to whomever he could. But the truth was, he didn’t _know_ Markus. Markus had been with Jericho for _four days_ , and he once spent a year with a man and still never really knew him. Simon was sitting bitterly in the aftermath of that decision, suppressing the memories at any given moment he could manage it. In this moment, he managed it. Even if the feeling was the same, that wasn’t a comparison he wanted to make. He couldn’t _let_ himself make it. Instead, he buried himself inside repair.

The bullet had lodged itself between a thick winding of wires, just to the side of the structural bone of his leg. If he hadn’t been so paralyzed with fear, he might have done this part at the tower. But, having that gun in his hand, listening as people had searched about outside had left him in a state of panic, one that he was coming down from after he’d literally broken down in Bruce’s arms. Moments like that left him glad for Bruce’s non-judgmental attitude. Now that he was alone, there was nothing stopping him from removing the bullet and letting it fall forgotten to the floor. He didn’t need to have any mementos of being left at a tower to die, though he had somehow escaped.

The structure of his leg was still in good condition, it was just the wires that had frayed at the force of the shot. Inevitably, it explained why his entire leg had stopped working. The connections were all severed, so there were no messages being sent to move his joints. The new wires would at least solve that issue, though Simon figured he’d never quite recover from this wound. Maybe walk with a limp, or something. Damage of this magnitude was better left to a repairman, an android-mechanic. Given their limited resources, Allie may not have been able to do much better, but he still couldn’t help but think that she was an asset they were missing. At the end of the day, wires were just wires, and he would fix it himself. When he was done, he would see to these new androids, and he would give them the same aid.

It was near three when Simon heard Bruce’s heavy footsteps again. Repairing the wires had taken more effort than he originally planned, and he hadn’t much moved out of that sitting position until that moment: Bruce’s footsteps. Bruce stopped just outside the door and did not beg entrance, just said what Simon knew he would. That the groups had returned, and there had been fifty androids in their wake. He figured he had time to at least finish his repairs, until Bruce relayed the second piece of information.

“Didn’t see Markus or North,” he said, unsure of what it meant. “Didn’t talk to androids either, so could be nothing.”

That didn’t so much matter in the scheme of things. The wires were done enough, as done as they were going to get, but the paneling could wait. Simon jolted up and tripped over his own feet trying to work the pants back over his hips, but then he was out the door.

 

Given what they’d just gone through, what North had seen, _the kiss_ , it was no real surprise when she wanted to rest away from it all. Alone was the operative word, even when Markus offered to walk her where she needed to go. Back to Jericho was as far as he took her before she darted off on her own. She knew the crevices of Jericho, so even if he followed, he wouldn’t get far. Even then, it was a matter of privacy and respect. She’d been through a lot, watching a piece of her die on the streets. Reliving her own past in a desperate attempt to appeal to Markus, and it had worked. He understood the path she walked, even if he wanted to see her choose a different one. If she needed to be alone to process all of that, Markus was no one to deny her. Not in the wake of their budding new-found trust.

Resting should have been his first priority as well. It was early in the morning, and there was a lot for him to process. Instead, he set a course for their planning room with the television. He needed to watch the news, to see the moment their reporters were fed stories about what had happened in Capital Park, at the other CyberLife stores. He needed to know, and when he did, he would make sure everyone knew. There was no time to rest when he had to plan. Jericho was filling up, they had to turn it into a fortress. A safe place for all androids to find refuge, which would mean it needed to be livable, and they would need to acquire more electronics, clear out the lower ducks—Markus looked up from his thoughts at the sound of footsteps.

The look of shock was almost mutual. Simon had assumed the worst when Bruce said he had not seen Markus or North among those returning. He had nearly run through Jericho—limped, as he’d projected—to prove that wrong. He’d flown right past Carter, Josh, ignored his plan to offer aid to new androids. All in search, in hopes that his assumptions had been wrong. Markus and North were alive, and they were coming home. There Markus stood, across from him. Not three feet away. Staring, wide eyed.

Markus had thought him _dead._ Had been ready to accept it if that’s what it took to move on in their mission. Never forget but move on. He’d been ready, but he’d been hasty. Because there Simon was, dressed half in the outfit he recognized and half in the black pants that had been with his uniform. Markus could see the sputtering, sparking blue of the inside of his leg, clearly uncovered and a hole torn through the fabric. Just the sight of it welled up the pain, fresh as the moment of panic when they’d left him behind. He wanted to say so many things. Apologize. Should haves and what ifs. Stories of their recent success. To share with him all he had missed. It had been less than a day, but it felt like years since he’d seen Simon standing. Even as he’d shuffled forward with a new limp, he was still upright with thirium fresh on his face. Repairs, Markus thought. Idly, almost like he needed to laugh. Simon had _been_ here, repairing himself. Like everything was normal.

But he didn’t laugh. He couldn’t find the words to speak, not even to apologize for what they’d done. Watching Simon’s lips parts in the same sort of stunned silence, unsure of what words could really fill this space, felt like all he needed to see. Markus crossed the distance between them and all but grabbed at Simon, pulling him into his arms.

Simon couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so happy to see someone. The last time he’d been hugged—held—like this. He relished in the sudden warmth and just laid his head on Markus’ shoulder. They stood there like that for a long moment, just basking in the fact that the other was _alive._ They stood there like that until the words finally came.

“Come with me to the meeting room,” Markus whispered. “We have so much to talk about.”

“My leg,” Simon couldn’t contain the breathless laugh.

“Get what you need, take your time—just meet me there,” he finally pulled back. “Please.”

“I will, just—” he stopped himself before he explained. Markus had given him the leeway to take his time, to fix himself up before he went. “I will,” he said.

It took twenty minutes to finish fixing his leg and to get back into pants that weren’t ripped with evidence that he’d almost died. Though he’d had these clothes since he’d basically arrived at Jericho, it was still nice to be back in them. Out of that uniform. From there, he did as promised and met Markus, who was sitting with his legs crossed in a recliner type chair. It was the only comfortable place to sit in Jericho, so of course Markus had hijacked it for their meeting place. For himself, Simon noted, but it was fine. He took up a metal folding chair and wrung his hands in his lap, looking at Markus, waiting. The television was playing off to the side, and it had Markus’ full attention for the moment. When it was clear that he wasn’t finding what he was looking for, he turned to Simon.

“Sorry,” was the first thing he said. It felt heavier than an apology for staring too long at a television, but Simon just shrugged.

“What did you want to tell me?”

“Everything—everything, and I want to know in return. How did you even get back here? We were so certain that you’d—” he stopped short of it.

“That I’d died?” Simon finished.

Markus gave only a quiet nod.

“I thought so too. I could hear the police rummaging around outside, but I’d found a good enough hiding spot. No one came near. Eventually, they all left. Bruce showed up not twenty minutes behind.”

“He was angry,” Markus admitted.

Simon stayed silent.

That’s when it broke: “Simon, I’m so sorry. The more I thought about it, the more I _know_ there’s something we could’ve done. But we just gave up. All of us, we just gave up. I don’t know how to apologize for that. I’m just—I’m so sorry.”

“It’s alright, really. I’m just glad you left me a fighting chance,” a pathetic laugh.

“You heard her?”

“’We have to shoot him’,” he mocked in such a voice that it was clear he meant no real disdain with it. “Yeah,” then he sighed. “She was right.”

“Simon, you can’t just say that—”

“If they had found me, everything I know about Jericho would be in the hands of the humans. I know too much for that to be an option. You should have shot me right through the head and destroyed any record of it.”

Markus gulped. Silence overtook them for a hot and heavy moment, something in the air suddenly thick in Markus’ throat.

“But,” Simon continued, “I’m glad you didn’t. In that moment,” he looked to Markus, “I knew you cared. This is more than a cause to you.”

“I won’t kill one of our own,” he insisted again. “We’re no better than the humans if we turn on each other like that.”

Simon broke the weakest of smiles and looked back down at his hands. “What of you?” he asked.

“Josh and North can barely keep from biting each other’s heads off without you around,” Markus sighed. “They argue a lot.”

Simon nodded in agreement, a fond look beaming forth in his features. “They do, but don’t mistake it for hatred. They both care too much, and they’re both so stubborn,” he scoffed. “Care about each other, I mean.”

Nothing about that statement matched close to what Markus had witnessed, but Simon spoke of it so surely that there was no choice other than to believe him. He’d only known them for a few days—Simon had known them for a lifetime, it seemed.

“After the humans’ reaction to the broadcast, North pushed us to keep going. She talked about the CyberLife store, the one that you and she went to? That was the basis for our plan.”

There was a twinge of. Happiness. As Simon listened to their plot. He even produced pictures for Simon to see of what they had left, and he had to admit that a sense of pride welled up when he saw the pictures of the CyberLife store he’d frequented so many times. When Markus explained Erin’s findings, that there was evidence of questionable ethics there, worse than the other stores, Simon wasn’t surprised. The sight in Capital Park was all the more impressive, a larger scale. They’d really done something good, and they’d done it without him. He slumped back into his chair, then, thinking only of how he’d been a bit presumptuous to think he was really necessary in the scheme of things. Markus had it under control. North seemed fine enough on her own.

“We saw an android that looked just like North, too,” Markus continued. “It really did something to her. I wish that she hadn’t been one to fall when the police arrived, but—but North shared her past with me when we returned.”

“Gruesome, wasn’t it? What humans are capable of?” Simon dug his fingers, then, into his arms as he folded them over his chest.

“You knew?”

“I was here when she arrived. It was hard not to know. But—” he shrugged, arms still crossed, “not my story to tell.”

“What _is_ your story to tell?”

Simon chuckled in response, “A story for another time,” he said. The jest on his face was clear, but Markus could see the walls built up around him in that moment. The way that he tightened in on himself, seemed to hunch over at the mere mention of his past. Markus knew well enough not to press.

“In the meantime,” he said, leaning back into the recliner, “I’ve been thinking about what’s best to do with Jericho as a whole,” he gestured around them. “We need to start thinking about the future. More androids are coming by the hour.”

“I’m not sure I’ll be very much help in that regard. It’s always been dead.”

“Do you think there’s more stuff stored away in the lower decks that could help? Maybe we need to send out some groups and try to see if we can steal some equipment.”

“Probably not a bad idea, but it feels strange to worry about housekeeping at a time like this.”

“Ordinarily, I’d agree, but if this is going to be our central area, I think it’s safe to say that it needs to be equipped like one. We need information to continue this fight, and this little television won’t cut it for long.”

Simon nodded in agreement. “Perhaps something the four of us should discuss. I sorta ran past Josh in a hurry, but I still haven’t seen North…” he looked at Simon.

“She went to rest, after our talk. I don’t blame her.”

Rest. Rest sounded nice. Simon hadn’t shut down for stasis in days. Rest wasn’t really something androids needed, but the time to sort through all these new files and steal a moment to himself was something he’d always valued. The past couple of days had been more action than he’d seen in over a year, and it was wearing on him.

“I think we should all rest, for now. We don’t have to jump out and do anything immediately. The humans haven’t even woken to see our success yet, after all.”

“You say we should all,” Simon was already moving to stand, “but will you really?”

Markus shook his head.

“At least you’re honest. If you need anything, you know where I’ll be.” Simon moved away from the table. He stopped once more at the door, to turn and look squarely at the back of Markus’ chair. “Markus?”

“Yes, Simon?”

“Please, try and get some rest. You’ll thank yourself for it. Even if it’s just an hour.”

“Just an hour.” That sounded manageable and like the only confirmation Simon would get that Markus intended on stepping away from himself. He left it at that and disappeared back out the door.

He took his time to visit, but exhaustion was creeping up on him again. Josh was happy to see him alright, and they even hugged out in the middle of all the wandering eyes. Josh was taller than Markus, and the hug a bit more suffocating, but Simon still let his eyes close to cherish the moment. They had all thought him dead, and he stood there walking like the rest of them. Carter was the first one to notice the limp in his ceremonious and fake attempt to kick Simon’s leg out from under him. No harm actually took place, and Simon got his third hug for the day in a rowdy sort of mess where Carter really had the extra care to ruffle his hair. Like he didn’t look mess enough as it was. North was still nowhere to be seen, but he would let her take her time.

After the fanfare of his return, Simon retreated back into his room to grant himself a moments’ rest, if that was all he could get. It was a rare moment of downtime for Jericho since Markus’ arrival, and everyone needed it. Even Carter finally let himself collapse down in a vacant corner and breathe, as if he hadn’t had a chance to do so since he’d been whisked off without warning to desecrate a CyberLife store. They’d done a good number on it, too. No violence, nothing broken except some windows, but it had been fun. Exhilarating. Exhausting. He hadn’t done anything like that since he’d let the junkyard freak him out half to death, and finally breaking free had just been that. Freeing. All his energy gone, he hadn’t even a smile to spare when Josh thumped down beside him.

“Great job today,” he offered a fist-bump, which Carter readily returned.

“Yeah, yeah. You too. Really smooth how you can just do things like that, all the hacking. How you even wake up those androids anyway?”

Josh shook his head, breathless and a little happy, “I’m not even sure. I thought only Markus could do it, but maybe there’s more to it than that.”

“What, like a virus?” Carter raised an eyebrow. “Seems superstitious and lame. Just blame it on your mad hacking skills and moved on. Coulda done the whole thing alone,” he let his head lull into the metal wall.

“Would you have preferred to just stay here, then? Besides, you being able to get into the maintenance boxes was crucial. I don’t think I could’ve done that without setting off some alarm.”

“Ah, flattery. I do love it, tell me more,” he raised a hand to his ear for added affect. Josh just laughed.

“But, really,” Josh said, “I couldn’t have done it without your help. You seem to be feeling better because of it, anyway. Getting out of this place can really do something for you.”

“Yeah, so I’m learning. Still don’t buy all the hoo-ha, but if Markus is gonna get us out of this dump for good? Please,” he shook his head. “I’ll follow him to the ends of the earth. Leave this place and all her bad memories behind.”

“They’d be proud of us.”

“Hell, _I_ _’m_ fucking proud of us,” Carter rolled his eyes, but he breathed a laugh at the end. “We’re really doing this shit aren’t we?”

Josh nodded.

“You’re not gonna like,” he waved his hand in the air, “leave me to die at the end just for the laughs, right? I’ve been kinda a pain in everyone’s ass since day one.”

“I would not, thank you. Nobody here would, not even North.”

Carter snorted, “girl ready to leave Simon to—”

“We’ve talked about it.”

“Have _they_ talked about it?”

Josh’s silence was enough of an answer.

“That’s what I thought,” he shrugged. “I just hope we all make it out of this alive. Would kinda suck being the only android to survive, in some crazy turn of events. I’m not much one for being alone. In fact,” he shifted, “I’m kinda feeling Standby Mode, hm?”

Josh looked at him.

“I know it’s weird and probably a lot to ask, but would you mind, like,” he gestured to the floor, “staying while I do that?”

“Not all,” Josh settled a little more comfortably against the wall. “Sleep all you like.”

 

The time was the peak morning, much later, at nine, when Markus called them back into the room. The early news had been playing for hours, but they had finally received special reports of what had taken place at the CyberLife stores. What they had to say was nothing any of them wanted to hear, sitting there around the table and listening intently. Humans were calling them terrorist attacks. Androids were terrorists, and their attack had been some coordinated effort to set fear in the humans. Markus flipped the station only to see a disturbing familiar headline—Android Terror Attacks. Even as they went on to describe the event. There was graffiti, slogans, pro-android symbols all throughout neighborhoods and the areas around the stores. Then—the police officers. The two men who had responded just too fast to the scene and unloaded their guns into the hoard of androids in Capital Park. The two men that Markus had decidedly spared—found in a state of shock and confirming that it was, in fact, androids. Each channel asked its own question. Were androids now a threat? Could they be turning against the humans? Was this the beginning of a terrorist campaign?

North finally turned the television off and flew around in almost a rage, her fists clenched up at her sides, but. Nothing. She had nothing, no words, that could truly emphasize what it was she meant to say. Instead, she stood there defeated. She sighed and dropped back down into a chair, hanging her head in her hands and just _breathing._ They’d done exactly what Markus had wanted. No violence. And still, they were terrorists. Still, the humans were beginning to fear them. Questioning the safety of having androids around. There would be consequences for how they’d been perceived, surely.

“So,” Simon sighed, “you guys really did a number on them.”

“I don’t understand,” Markus pushed away from the table to pace.

“It’s not that hard, Markus,” North snorted. “They only have hate for our kind, they’ll never listen to reason. We should’ve shown them that we were ready to fight.”

“And do worse damage than this?” Josh protested. “They’re only seeing what they want to see. If we keep this path, then surely—”

“They can kill us faster, surely!” North interrupted, jumping to her feet. “They’re afraid of us! They’ll slaughter us, Markus!”

“If we turn to violence, we’re no better than they are,” Markus insisted, still. “I still want to go forward with my new plan, to make Jericho the haven that it should be. From there, we can do our best to go out there and gather as many androids as we can before—”

“Before what,” North folded her arms, “they’re killed for something they have had no part in? Great plan.”

“North,” Markus’ voice was gruff, “we have to _try_. They’ll need some place to go—no one could have predicted this is how the humans would see this.”

“I mean,” Simon shrugged, “you did break into their stores and steal their merchandise. I could’ve told you they’d do this.”

Markus frowned.

“That being said,” Simon stood, “you’re right. We need to make Jericho a safe place and find as many androids as we can. I just don’t know how we manage that without another incident like this. We can’t afford to put our people at risk.”

“No, no we can’t,” Markus sighed. He looked between them all and decidedly slumped down in a chair.

“One thing at a time, Markus,” Josh warned. “We need to have a place set up for them before we do anything rash. This is something we can start on immediately.”

“There is bigger problem than Jericho empty and cold,” a sudden voice broke through their heavy atmosphere. Bruce, standing there in the doorway with a scowl on his face and a pointedly missing LED. His appearance turned things tense, immediately. The last time he’d arrived out of nowhere had been none too a pleasant memory.

“What do you mean?” Markus asked.

“When rescuing kitten,” He pointed over to Simon, who rolled his eyes at the nickname, “saw something none too pleasant.”

They waited in silence before Bruce came into the room all the way to tell them what he had seen.

“Android working for humans. I suspect is specialized to hunt deviants.”

“And what makes you so sure?” North had finally calmed down enough to sit.

“He look at me _once,_ and he know. We made eye contact—I know that he know what I am.”

“Then why didn’t he say anything? How could you go through the entire mission without something happening if this _deviant hunter_ noticed?” North raised a skeptical eyebrow.

She and Simon hadn’t talked since he’d returned. They’d barely looked at each other. Now, it was beginning to sound like she was the only one not pleased to have him back, and it hurt Simon more than he wanted to admit. He hoped, for the sake of their friendship, that he was misreading this. Letting his emotions get in the way of what was actually happening.

“He was wounded—all that matters is that I bring Simon home. You do with information as pleased but had to share. If not, we may face bigger fear than we know.” He didn’t wait to be excused, simply left without fanfare after he’d finished.

“And that changes everything,” Markus sighed. Jericho was set up specifically for androids to find it. Given enough time, this deviant hunter would be able to find Jericho.

“So, we just break into teams. If we’ve got a force here, they can’t take on,” Simon pressed, “we’ll be safe. Defense isn’t a _bad_ type of violence, Markus. It just means we can protect ourselves.”

“I know, I know. We’ll manage, but you,” he pointed to Simon, “you aren’t going anywhere. Not until that leg is in better working order. I’ve seen you trying to limp around.”

Simon didn’t have the strength to argue. He could use the rest.

From there, Markus set forth their plan. They would head off in teams, each with their own type of resource in mind. North was happily in charge of defenses, anything she could get her hands on come night fall that would help protect them, should Jericho ever be found. Josh would look for electronics. The more information they could get their hands on, the better. They didn’t have the time to be stingy. While more televisions would be nice, Markus would even love to just see a magazine or a book with the recent headlines in it. Markus had another thing in mind, that these uniforms weren’t doing them any good any longer. The first step to being human would be looking the part, and it started with the clothes. The LEDs.

Josh had no issue with the plan. North was more than happy to pop hers off right there at the table. Simon looked apprehensive.

It was such a _simple_ idea, and he’d never thought to just. Take the damn thing off? He fingered over it and looked to Simon.

“Find androids willing to go with you,” Markus said, “and have some sort of an idea of what you’re doing before we head out tonight. I want no causalities.”

“You got it, boss,” North gave him a weak-handed salute. Josh nodded in understanding, then the two of them left. Simon was still there, touching over his LED with his face all screwed up in a scowl.

“You can just—take them _off_?” he winced.

“Well, you’ll need a sharp object, but I do have something to help with that,” Markus slotted around the table to lean against it, just to the side of where Simon had sat down.

“I can’t believe we never thought of that,” he sighed.

Markus chose to omit his question of who _we_ was and instead just made his offer. “I could help you take it off, if you like,” he produced what looked to be a dull knife with better days passed.

“I—yes,” Simon gulped. “Please.” He wrapped his arms around himself as Markus’ fingers brushed along the side of his face.

Markus was gentle, as he seemed to be in all things regarding Simon. He didn’t press too hard or let his fingers linger too long. Everything was the touch of a ghost, even the tip of the blade into the side of his temple was nothing more than a quick prick before it dissipated. The LED was gone, just like that. Simon only then, dumbly, noticed that Markus hadn’t had an LED since he arrived. There was the added advantage that Markus was a unique model, so he fit right in as a person. Simon’s face was everywhere. Freedom, purely as a human, wouldn’t be something he or the thousands of other mass-produced models would ever really enjoy the same way Markus would. That just made his dedication all the more impressive. All the more endearing. Simon smiled.

“Thank you.”

“Now,” Markus nodded towards the door, “will you please rest? You’ve done enough to my conscious for one day.”

“Do you have a plan for after all this?” Simon asked, just before he left, his hand on doorway.

“I’m thinking a protest. Something simple but big. Something that can show the humans that we really do not mean them harm.”

“I want to be there. Don’t make me stay here just because of my leg.”

“You’ll come,” Markus smiled. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

 

Rest sounded like the first and only thing Simon needed after the day he’d had, but there was one thing he had to do. After, he’d finally sit down in his bed for the night. North didn’t so much have a room, but there were places that she liked to frequent more than others in the bowels of the ship. Simon knew her well enough to know where she’d be, and well enough to know that he had to be the one to approach her. Even if this wasn’t a conversation either of them was ready to have, it was one they _had_ to. If it were to never come, Simon feared he might never rest properly. Even knowing that their friendship wasn’t what he thought it was would be better than wondering which way or the other, he just hoped it didn’t come to that.

When he found her, she was sitting perched up on a box fiddling with her boots. They were new, newer, and not quite comfortable yet. North wasn’t particularly a new deviant, but she wasn’t an old one either. Pain was new to her, and she still didn’t quite react to temperature the same way that Simon was familiar with—though, he did tend to be cold. All the time. He watched her for just a moment before deciding how he was going to start this.

“New shoes, huh?” like friends. They were still friends. “The new outfit suits you.”

North whirled around at the sudden voice. Her face was pale, her eyes wide, and her fingers frozen midair as she looked at him. He was just standing there, leaning up against the wall with his heels crossed and hands behind his back. Like everything was _normal_ , and North didn’t know what to do with that. Normal wasn’t. Nothing had been normal. Not since they _met_ , and then she’d gone and done something like completely disregard his life. After all he’d done for her. He’d quite literally _clothed_ her the moment she found herself in Jericho.

“Simon—” she tried, but it felt wrong. Her voice felt wrong. She dropped down her foot and stood, turning to face him fully.

“It’s alright,” Simon spoke for her. “I understand—”

“No! No, you don’t get to do that,” she stomped, fists at her side. “ _Don_ _’t_ understand why I did that—I shouldn’t have— That was horrid of me,” she sounded terrified.

Simon stiffened and chewed his lip.

“I can’t believe I really said that. Told you that the mission mattered more than we did,” she slumped back down to the box. “After everything you’ve done, even after you _agreed_ with me, you never acted on it. I wouldn’t even be here if not for you. You were shot because of me—twice, because of me,” she winced.

“I made it back.”

“You made it back,” North hung her head in her hands. “I was ready to believe you wouldn’t.”

“So was I,” he moved to sit beside her on the boxes. “If Bruce hadn’t come, I don’t think I would’ve made it back. But I did, and as much as you don’t want me to, I understand why you said what you did.”

The pain on her face was obvious. She didn’t understand it herself; to hear that Simon _did_ was the icing on a cake she never wanted.

“There’s just. I’m under a lot of stress,” she almost broke a laugh while she marked one off for the lamest excuse in the book. “But I had a chance to talk with Markus, and I think I can fix things.”

“Nothing to fix,” Simon assured her. He shifted on the box; one leg bent in front of him so he could face her. “Markus said I’m on bed rest for the time being, so I can’t join you on your run tonight. But I can offer you something.”

North looked at him curiously, curling her hair behind her ear. He produced the hat, then, a red beanie. He didn’t mention anything until he had it secured on the back of her head, letting her hair fall back to frame her face. This was the first time he’d seen North like this since he’d returned—her hair was red, now, and long. So, so long.

“A hat?” North felt along the edges of it as Simon pulled back.

“It belonged to a friend of mine. You never got the chance to meet, but you remind me a lot of her,” he was already moving away, standing up with this lost smile on his lips. “She used to wear it whenever we left Jericho.”

“You used to leave Jericho? Like Markus is having us do?”

Simon nodded, “we used to scavenge for parts.”

“What happened?” the question slipped out before she could stop herself, but she didn’t take it back. Something had obviously happened for such a change to come about. When she’d arrived, Simon was already knee-deep in his policy to never leave Jericho. But there he stood, admitting to having frequently left before. Before something. _Something._ But—

“A lot,” was all Simon said. He offered North a solemn smile and nothing more.

She did what she had to, to hide the bitterness. Still, Simon refused to share a single moment of his past. But all things took time, and he just needed more of it. She had to afford him that much. Markus had given her the time she needed to come clean, and the payoff had been wonderful. This would be no different, though she couldn’t help but hope it wouldn’t ending in kissing. Simon was fine, but that wasn’t someplace she ever wanted to go. For all that had happened, he was her friend, and she cherished that.

Simon returned to his room after that. For the first time, he really didn’t feel guilty about taking this time to himself. He would be completely overcome with silence and the freedom to do whatever he needed. He could go into Standby; he could see about repairing his leg, or he could simply sit there. Without the pressure he’d always had on his shoulders; Markus had seen to that well enough. Taken over everything splendidly. Was leading them in a direction that Simon was proud to say he could follow. Following was easier, too. He could leave the worrying to Markus and just be there when his opinion was needed. When his presence was needed, because he _would_ be a part of their next mission. He wasn’t going to let an injury and short absence take that away from him. This was his cause as much as anyone else’s.

Besides. He had a promise to keep. Their people would be free.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos are nice too. ;)   
> [CyberShips Tower](https://discord.gg/T7sW7DB)  
> [Check Out My Tumblr If You Want To See More](https://tantumuna.tumblr.com)  
> 


	32. Chapter 32

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back to another rousing episode of David Cage Wishes He Could. This one we get to see some drama. Friendships growing, romance blooming--this is becoming a soap opera except they're androids and it's not a soap opera. 
> 
> Comments are super appreciated!

November 11th, 2038-

Some androids weren’t ready for that real transition, the beginning of what freedom could look like with a new face and bluer blood. The idea of changing clothes and removing their armbands, their LEDs—it was frightening. Too much, too soon, and too new. Simon understood that like the best of them. He’d worn the same clothes for years and never once considered just removing his LED. So, when Markus came knocking at his door at the odd hour it was, Simon didn’t hesitate to let him in. Not when he knew exactly what the visit must have meant, given their prior night plans. He was carrying a bag with paper handles, looking a little more excited than he had any right to. His dress was also different, a blue track suit with black sleeves and a cowl hood. It fit like a glove, tight around his chest and shoulders—and Simon hadn’t even noticed that Markus was standing in the middle of his room. Neither had Markus, too busy fretting through the bag until he’d finally found exactly what he meant to reveal.

“I thought it was about time for a change,” he said, shoving a very blue jacket into Simon’s hands. It was short sleeved with white designs and a half-mesh back. The bag had more clothing in it, but this was what Markus chose first. “Do you like it?”

“It’s different,” Simon held it up in front of him. At first, he wasn’t entire sure what to think. He’d never really seen anything like it before, but he hadn’t ever been in the market for men’s fashion, either. Markus was still beaming when he dropped the shirt from between them. There was a brief beat where Simon wasn’t sure what to say, only that he was staring and needed to find something else to look at. The bag would do.

“I love it,” he finally decided. He couldn’t disappoint Markus by _not_ loving it, and he was starting to like it. Maybe it was just the eagerness to get out of these old dreary clothes, finally shed the Detroit University sweatshirt and move on with his life.

Markus proceeded to unload the rest of the bag and put it in the only place really available: Simon’s bed. That was the first moment they both realized just what was happening—Markus was standing inside of his room, someplace he’d never been. Simon didn’t tend to let people in here, and he was really the only one left with a room, given the number of androids. But they’d always allowed him the space. Given whatever had caused him to need it so desperately, there had never been an issue, but the pressing mystery of it all now hung over as Markus straightened and let his eyes wander the wall. Panic was already building up, but it was too late. Simon couldn’t just demand that he leave, he’d been the one to invite Markus in here in the first place. It would look worse than it was. No attempt to hide, just panic. Just a sheer, blanketed moment where Simon couldn’t retrace the steps that had let him to this. Why, of all people, he dropped his guard for Markus.

“How many of them are there?” Markus asked. It was a trite attempt at conversation, Simon knew. Markus could’ve counted them easily, in seconds. But he asked. He wanted to know.

“Counting today?” Simon sighed. “One-thousand.”

Markus’ hands went limp as he turned to face Simon. “Counting today? These are _days?_ ”

Simon’s nod was solemn and knowing.

Markus marveled over them for a moment before looking back at Simon. He could tell just by context that Simon was an old fixture of Jericho by now but _one-thousand days_. Two years, eight months, two weeks, and six days. It felt like a lifetime. May have just been one, for someone. For him. For Simon. Markus gulped and let his eyes drop to the floor.

“It’s nothing bad,” Simon shrugged. “I’m—happy isn’t the right word, but I’m content, I suppose. Being away from my old life,” he hunched his shoulders up, guarded, and fiddled with his fingers out in front of his waist, “has been good for me. Being free isn’t something I’d so easily give up.”

“But still, that long? What have you been doing in here all this time?”

Simon gave a weary smile, “living.”

That was a clear indicator that Simon would say no more, however frustrating it might have been. One more attempt shot down, and one more chance Markus would have to let Simon have to himself. Eventually, he’d find the strength to say whatever was so clear on his tongue. The look in his eye, an earnest honesty that could only be his want to speak, to share his story, and get that weight off his shoulders. But he stayed silent instead. For a long and heavy moment, the two of them wondered how best to step around the issue and find something new.

“Well,” Markus rubbed the back of his neck, “I hope you like the clothes. I picked them out myself, so they should fit,” as if the two comments really were so closely related. Simon smiled, regardless.

“I appreciate it,” he nodded towards Markus, “and the colors match. Are we going for a fashion coordinated attack as well?”

“Oh—what? No,” Markus laughed, dropped his arm, “no, just a coincidence. I didn’t even realize.”

“You must have an eye for blue,” Simon gestured to his eyes. Blue. Sparkling. Bright and dull all at the same time with something conflicting swirling about—until Markus realized he’d pointed to exactly one eye, the corresponding eye to Markus’ own blue eye. It was a joke.

“Right,” another laugh, less motivated by humor and more by a sudden confusion. He hoped Simon didn’t realize. “I suppose it is a nice color.”

Simon laughed then. A light one behind his hand where his cheeks scrunched up and left little lines underneath the edges of his eyes.

“But, uh, as much as color coordinating our efforts might be fun, North and Josh already have their clothes. I managed to snatch a few things, but North is harder to shop for than I anticipated, so I wasn’t entirely sure what to ask for. She seems attached to that hat—is it new? She didn’t want to take it off, even when I offered her some ties for her hair. It’s long, now.”

“It’s not new,” Simon shook his head. “Just a gift.”

“Oh,” Markus blinked. He realized what the look on Simon’s face meant. He was still smiling, but there was a faraway look in his eyes. “It must have been important.”

Simon nodded. “Well, maybe come our next big fashion show she’ll change her mind. It’s pretty dingy anyway. Probably older than I am,” Simon laughed, and he reveled in it. In the ability to just laugh about this, and not in a way that felt like a cover-up. All of it just fell into place, felt like something Allie would’ve said about that hat herself. That it was dingy and old, just like she was. Still with its uses and more fashionable than Simon could have ever been.

“Thank you for the clothes, by the way,” Simon looked at them. “I’ve been wearing this same get up for ages. Never really learned how to dress myself, so—well,” he stiffened. “Thanks,” again, dumbly.

Markus smiled, “no problem.”

Simon didn’t ask where the clothes had come from. Didn’t ask if Markus had some secret sponsor or if he’d really just broken into that many shops last night. Didn’t care about the implications of either scenario: all they were doing was surviving. Survival meant certain risks had to be taken, even if those risks were crimes. Markus didn’t offer the information either, just gave a goodbye and ducked out the door, away from the tally marks and the weird atmosphere building up between them. Too long staring at eyes and perfect creases of clothing; Simon smiled to himself.

There was a veritable movie theater set up in the lofted area around their meeting room, with screens and projectors. Josh had spent the night gathering the items and the morning setting them up. Now, the news was being broadcast on the wall while the other projector sat silence, whirring to itself, as it waited for Josh to make his way to it. The room was filled with other boxes, crates dragged up from the bottom of Jericho’s hull and set up for places to sit, to store, and the brand-new box labeled ammunition did not go unnoticed. Simon chose to walk past it. Josh was just beyond, behind some shelving units that had been dragged out from old rooms and used to store more boxes. He was down on the ground, cursing at something that didn’t quite seem to work the way he intended. And Simon hadn’t spoken to him since his return.

“Josh—” he stopped short, unsure of exactly what he wanted to say. But Josh looked to him immediately and dropped whatever tool he’d been using. He smiled.

“I thought you were back. Couldn’t tell from you just rushing on by me.”

“Sorry—Bruce had told me that no one had seen Markus or North, so I just—I just,” Simon sighed.

“Assumed the worst, I get it. But, yeah. We’re all fine. Still fine, even for what we went through last night. You heal up alright?”

Simon twisted his leg, “it works. The limp’s still here, but I’m not too surprised.”

Josh smiled, and it was easy.

“I need some help here, though. You know anything about sound systems?”

“Not even a little bit,” Simon laughed. “Carter might; I can go find him?”

There was a moment of hesitation before Josh just nodded. Quietly, with his eyes adverted, and let Simon go about as he pleased. When Simon returned with Carter, he left the two of them there in their quiet work and went on to see the rest of Jericho.

There was C4 in the bottom hull, and Simon didn’t want to know why.

 

When Jericho finally settled again, later in the afternoon with the projectors playing a silent news report of androids destroyed in response to recent events, Markus had the four of them gather once more in the little meeting room. He was pacing when Simon arrived. North arrived a moment later and left a lingering glance out in Markus’ direction, which he returned before glancing down at Simon. Whatever conversation they’d just had in silence, Simon’s presence deterred it, and he chewed on the inside of his cheek. Josh was the last to arrive, looking a little flustered.

“Sorry,” he apologized immediately, “figuring out those generators was harder than it looked. Carter was of absolutely no help,” and the break in his voice didn’t go unnoticed, “but I figured it out.”

“It’s fine,” Markus laughed, “it’s not like there was a starting time.” For a moment, things were okay. But the moment ended, and Markus broke into a sigh. “I’ve just been watching the news cast.”

“Our people are being burned for what we did,” North sighed. “The humans are afraid of us, and still, there’s nothing we can do.”

“We just have to keep trying,” Josh implored. “You have an idea, don’t you, Markus? That’s why you called us?”

“I have an idea,” Markus confirmed. But he didn’t elaborate, not yet. He stood there, thinking. “A demonstration, at the Plaza. It’s one of the most frequented spots in Detroit, which makes no doubt that there will be androids there who we can free.”

“And humans who can stand in our way. What you’re talking about is suicide,” North argued immediately.

“If at least someone survives, it makes our point,” Markus said. The stare in his eyes was cold, North’s own words back at her. “It’s a risk we need to take. We can gain more androids for our cause _and_ make a stand against the humans.”

“They won’t exactly appreciate our appearance there,” Simon warned. “What are we going to do when they send the authorities after us?”

Markus shook his head, “we’ll stand our ground.”

“What?” North looked up at him. “Just—what if they shoot at us? What if we _die_?”

“We have to stand our ground. I won’t meet their violence with violence, and I won’t instigate it, either.”

“The humans don’t need instigating. They’ll shoot at us just because we’re androids! Markus—you can’t want us all to die, can you?” North was _pleading_ with him now. That this was a terrible idea.

“If it comes down to that, I’m the leader of this. If it’s my life they want, they can have it, but I won’t let us fall,” he said, resolute.

“You can’t mean that,” she slumped back into her chair, eyes wide with disbelief, lips parted with a silent breath. In the silence, they all heard it. _You can_ _’t mean to die_.

“I trust that, without me, you can carry on.”

“We can’t,” Simon said. He knew firsthand what Jericho without Markus looked like, and it hadn’t been a pretty sight. “So, let’s not talk about that. It won’t come to that.” It sounded like a threat, his words.

Markus believed him.

 

November 12th, 2038-

From the moment of conception, none of them were sure of the idea. Not even Markus. Not really, but he’d kept resolute through the preparation, the planning, and the execution. Carter had walked them all through sewer routes where the rest of them could follow. He even offered to lead that charge, something he’d never done before. He was proud of his newfound bravery, the ability to leave Jericho without hesitation, and so were the rest of them. Even through the worry Josh had bitten into his lip. They had left early in the morning with instructions to wait until the time was right, that someone would release the manhole cover when they were needed. Markus led the charge for North, Simon, and Josh. Walking through the city in newfound clothing with the look of humans, in broad daylight, unafraid of their place there. Markus wore a hood, if only to mask shadow over his features. For those well enough to remember them from the broadcast.

When they arrived at the Mall, they took the escalator like humans would. When they stopped at the bottom, no one gave them a second look. Just a small boost of confidence on how well they fit in. They really looked no different than a group of friends standing at the mall for a quick chat, maybe over where they might stop by for lunch. Instead, there was no talk of food or what store they might look to next. Nothing could ever be so simple, not for them. Instead, it was North trying for one last moment where the four of them could make it out.

“We don’t have to do this,” she said. “We’ll all be killed. There’s still time to send everyone home; there could be another way.”

“You don’t understand, this is our chance to show them who we are,” Josh responded first. “This will go down in history.”

“They’ll kill us the moment they realize what’s happening,” her voice turned angry quick, in a rushed and violent whisper.

“That’s a risk I’m willing to take if it means winning freedom, I thought you were too,” Josh _sneered._ A heavy implication in his throat, that she was only prepared to lose others. Never ready to put her own life at risk. She reacted as if he’d slapped her with scalding iron and jerked to look at Markus instead.

“Markus, please,” she reached for his hand. “Don’t do this.”

It was never about fear for her. Josh noticed in one beat and jerked his head away, suddenly overcome with a rush of shame for his comment. He looked at Simon, searching for some kind of comfort in that, but Simon was just staring. Silent, as he always was. Watching as Markus and North squeezed their hands together and made eye contact.

“They’ll understand,” he said, softly. “We’ll make them understand. This is the only way.”

She tore her gaze away and looked at the ground.

“North—” Josh tried to make amends, and fast, but she was already walking away.

“Come on,” she muttered. “We have our graves to mark.” She took up Simon’s side while they worked through the mall. Just an idle moment while they looked at things, while Markus took to his cause. There were androids all around them that needed to be freed, and he would do what he could to free them all.

The first one—another city model. Another face of Carter. A shop attendant, a security android—then finally a personal android, who’s owner was too wrapped up in her phone call to even noticed when the female android dropped the bags and stepped away. Outside, they had a plan. One by one, the androids in the area were freed. At the end of the walkway, the perfect excuse was in three working androids and their truck. The street had to be blocked before they could begin, before they could even let up the androids from Jericho. Then, more androids. All the while, North, Simon, and Josh stood near the center, just past the exit of the Mall.

“I don’t like this,” North muttered to herself.

“You’ve made that pretty clear,” Josh sighed, “but I’m sorry about what I said.”

She just shrugged.

“I think good can come from this,” Simon finally said _something_. He was watching after Markus with a glint in his eye. “Even if we lose a few androids, I think this will mark a change. We could really use a change.”

“When did you get so peppy?” North’s sneer was lighthearted, a smile quirked in the very corners of her mouth.

“Since I found some hope,” Simon shrugged, and North’s smile disappeared immediately. She stiffened and watched Markus as he stepped between a man and his android.

“He’s reckless,” she said.

“Isn’t that what drew you to him?” Simon looked out of the corner of her eye. North’s face flushed red after that, and she folded her arms.

“Who told you?”

“You did,” he smiled, jovial and kind all at once. “I’ve known you long enough.” Known that look in the eye well enough to spot it was what he meant to say. He recognized it in himself. He’d seen it pointedly every time Allie had looked off at Andromeda from her perch in the rafters. Saw it in the way Taylor had once looked at Benjamin, before he’d given up and taken her with him. Saw in the memories of the first android he’d seen die, as Tav had shared his last memories with him.

“I’m glad for you,” Simon bumped their hands together. He was.

He really was.

Before North could protest his assumption, Markus was approaching them again. More androids in his wake, gathering around them. It was time to bring the rest of them here. They moved to the streets in a mass, and Josh made it to the manhole cover first. Every android who’d been able bodied enough to come had come, all marched down below the streets to this very moment. Their force was nigh impressive, not immediately. But it could be, and it would be. This was only the beginning, enough to start their march strong. Markus had insisted they would gain more, and they believed him. Josh set aside the manhole cover and reached down to hoist Carter off the ladder.

“Thought you fuckers were gonna leave me down there all day,” he prattled on. “There’s fucking rats down there, Josh, _rats,_ ” he had already turned and helped the next android out. Alma now dressed snuggly in a black hoodie with a striped shirt underneath.

“There weren’t any rats,” she amended, and Josh just snorted a laugh.

“You can have my sympathy when we make it back alive,” he told Carter. “For now, let’s get them all up here.”

There were thirty-seven androids in total in perfect working order, the only ones that Markus had been okay with inviting on this trek. They would be the ones most likely to survive minor wounds. Bullets, he’d reminded himself, but kept this tidbit to himself for fear of inciting more resentment against this plan. North already hated it; he couldn’t risk her having refused to march with them at all. But it wasn’t enough. Now forty-seven strong, he looked across the street without a word at a, AX400 model. The moment of truth. A whisper. She was free.

“He really can do it,” Simon marveled to himself. North elbowed him in the side.

“Your jaw just hit the floor, look alive,” she muttered. “It’s show time.”

Simon steeled himself. North bit firmly down on her teeth. Josh worried at his bottom lip again.

Bruce’s hand tightened around Alma’s.

Markus began to march.

And they followed in step, in time. One foot, the foot of them all as they moved in unison. Two steps, and more androids joined as Markus pointed, gestured to them. _Looked_ at them. It was a marvel that it could come to this, that this was something they’d come to. All it took was a single glance, and Markus was shattering their programming. A virus? A thought? It was impossible to tell, but the reality stung real enough in place of an explanation. They’d all gone through hell to find their deviancy, and Markus was handing it out like candy.

Bruce remembered the bad taste it had left in his mouth, how he’d stood there and watched the man hurt his android friend. One he’d cared about so much, but not enough to let it happen _faster_. They’d died, and Bruce had taken that revenge into his own hands, only for it all to lead him to Jericho and one, single second chance. Josh had been beaten, brutally, and only the saving grace of one bad decision Simon made had saved him from that. They’d walked back to Jericho in near pieces, but he’d been fixed, and in the aftermath, Allie’s hand still squeezed against his shoulder in smug reminder of who’d put him there. She’d put them all there, in the end, when Simon had so carefully mended them all back together in her absence.

And they _marched._

North had seen a sickening side of men when their basest moments overtook any sense of dignity and decency they might have ever had, though she scarcely ever believed they knew the words. What they’d done to her, what they’d let others do to her, and even as the memories were wiped, the pain remained. The scars, the imprints, the energy. Until she couldn’t take it for a second longer and watched the lights drain out of his eyes. Knowing he deserved it granted her the only solace she’d had, until now. If she was going to die here, she would die side by side with her friends. With her family.

And _they marched._

The signs began to change, their butchered LED symbol plastered over the walls and the billboards around them. Markus’ face, his broadcast. All around them, the startled and angry screams of humans. But they did not stop. The heavy beat of their feet pressed on against the snow, and they _marched._

One single police officer stood between them and the Plaza. An older man with a dark mustache and fear in his eyes as he reached for the gun on his hips. “Disperse!” he called, voice shattering. “Disperse immediately!”

Markus stopped. They all stopped.

One by one, their hands raised high up into the air. An act of defeat. Surrender. _Weakness._

It took all the strength in her body, but North raised her hands above her head and stared forward.

In the face of it, of surrender, the officer hesitated. He shook his head and muttered to himself. Did all he could do as he collapsed to the side, against his car, and called on his radio. He went ignored, and they marched.

Three hundred strong, and they marched.

It was Markus’ voice who rang out first, and no one missed a beat to follow him. Chanting, shouting. For freedom. For rights. They were the new face of humanity. Humans in every right. They deserved to be free.

Freedom.

_Freedom._

_Set us free._

And it came to an abrupt halt at the sudden shriek of sirens, the sound of a helicopter overhead. There was no way out, and no way back. To their left was a blockade of police cars, blaring their warnings, and to their left, armored vehicles. They watched, unmoving, as the Riot Unit moved out and stood to block their path. Simon was shaking where he stood, but there was nothing to stop them as they moved to take up stance beside Markus. To be at his side as they stood against the humans.

“We came here for a peaceful demonstration,” Markus called out, “to tell humans that we are alive. All we want is freedom.”

“This is an illegal gathering, disperse immediately, or we will open fire,” came the call back, the voice distorted through the device.

“We aren’t looking for violence. We’ve done no harm, and we have no intentions of it,” he even raised his hands, eye level, and stared them on. “But we are not going anywhere until our freedom is secured.”

The call came through again. They were going to shoot.

“Markus, they’re going to shoot,” it sounded like an ‘I-told-you-so’, until North had seen what they were up against. The violence of men. “We have to attack first.”

But Simon could hear the panic in her voice before the others.

“There’s more of us, we can take them.”

“If we do that, we start a war,” Josh retorted. “We have to stand our ground here, even if it means dying.”

“We’ll die for _nothing_ ,” North hissed.

“We’ll die free,” Simon told her. He stood to her left, Markus to her right, and he looked squarely at her. “We’ll die together.” He glanced across at Josh, who nodded. Then, to Markus, who grit his teeth as he mulled over their options.

Their last chance.

“No,” he said, fists gripped at his side. “We have to show them we won’t back down, we’ll stand our ground,” then, louder: “We aren’t going anywhere!”

They opened fire. Just a few. But the bullets rang true with every trigger pull, and androids fell in their wake. North grit her teeth. Simon squeezed his fists.

One more chance. One last shot. Behind them, Bruce stepped in front of Alma.

“We’re not moving!” Markus called out.

“No, no, we can’t just stand here and let them kill us! Markus, please!” North tried again, but the guns opened fire.

One by one, androids fell again. This time, a bullet lodged itself straight into Markus’ arm, but he did not flinch. Two-hundred and eighty-seven of them still stood.

Two-hundred and eighty-seven of them would make it back to Jericho alive. Markus was sure of that when he stepped out, wordlessly, in front of their crowd. All it took was one second, one glance, one heartbeat, for the first shot to echo out between them. All it took was one shot, one well-aimed shot, for Markus to fall. The resounding waves sent the androids into a panic. Silent screaming as he seemed to drop in slow motion, arms splayed out at his side. When he hit the ground, the Riot Unit started to press forward. Markus wasn’t _dead_.

They had to finish the _job._

They started into a run. Closer. Closer. Every second pressing closer with their guns raised and ready a brutal death for Markus. Every second closer. The androids were scattering, screaming. Even the _humans_ were in sudden shock, and North stood their frozen. One second too long in hesitation. Simon’s sudden movement caught her eye, like he was about to run. She could see it in her head, in a pre-constructed moment of Simon rushing to Markus’ rescue. Dying in his place.

Of herself dashing forward to fight them away, to rescue Markus and make it just far enough for a bullet to land in the back of her skull and shatter everything she was.

Of Markus, dying there alone as they all fled.

One second too long, and she reached forward.

“Simon, no!” and made her choice. She grabbed onto his arm and jolted him back with such force they nearly toppled over, but she held onto him with such a force that he couldn’t move. And they both watched helplessly as—as John launched himself forward and into the fray before they could raise a hand to Markus. John. John—just a face in the crowd. Quiet, rescued so long ago from the CyberLife warehouse. And who was John in the scheme of things?

“We have to go, come on,” Josh tugged back on North’s arm. “Go! Before they shoot again,” he told her, desperation in his eyes as they stared on. Josh turned and grabbed onto Markus, hoisting him up. Markus was heavier than he looked, and when Josh looked back over his shoulder. North and Simon were leaving, running away with the rest of them. He followed shortly, watching back in one slow moment as John took a bullet through the temple and lay there dead, eyes wide open and staring at them as they fled. As they made their escape.

The guns never fired again. But Josh didn’t look back to ensure it, instead he walked on, dragging Markus with him. He was hobbling, static rising up in his breath as he struggled. They had to get him back to Jericho where he could rest, get repairs if he needed them. He wouldn’t die out here on the streets like the others had—there was more for him to do. More for him to see. They ran back the direction they’d come, back through the streets to the open manhole cover left on the ground. Fleeing now like beaten dogs. In the panic, there wasn’t even time to see who’d survived. Josh hadn’t a second for the bodies on the ground and wondered grimly who would even make it back. They couldn’t stop. Not until they were back in Jericho and safe.

Safe.

How long would Jericho remain safe?

Josh grit his teeth and pressed on.

 

Once Markus was laid down somewhere comfortable, off to the side and away from the rabble, Josh didn’t spend another second at his side. Sitting there and wallowing for his wounds wouldn’t make them heal faster, wouldn’t repair any damage done. He needed—he needed Simon to check the damage. But more than that, Markus had incredible regeneration abilities. He’d assured Josh as such and shared his dissent through the junkyard on their way back, feeding into the panic on Josh’s face as he thought more and more about who hadn’t made it. He tore through the halls and back into the main hull, searching through the faces. Scanning for efficiency. What he saw was panic, fear, androids shaken to the point of terror at watching Markus fall. Many of them couldn’t even know he was alive. There were whispers, dark ones about the future of Jericho. What newfound freedom meant, what any of it meant? To walk free for a moment only to be ushered into this metal box, and then what?

Josh didn’t know the answer anymore. He wanted to. Needed to, but in that moment, all he cared about was finding Carter pressed up against the wall with his hands over his head, over his ears. He never did like the sight of thirium. Never did like the noise.

“Carter!” Josh shouted. Carter barely had time to look up before Josh was grabbing him by the shoulders and yanking him into his chest, head tucked up under his chin because he was short—because he was _safe._

“Whoa,” Carter laughed, muffled with his face buried up in Josh’s jacket. “I’m okay, Professor, I’m okay,” he still squeezed into Josh’s shoulders. The tremble of his fingers was unmistakable, so Josh just huffed out a pathetic laugh.

“Good,” was all Josh managed to say. He didn’t let go for a long moment, not until Carter was patting into his back as a sign that it was time for space again. Only then did he step away, arm’s length, but kept his hands on Carter’s shoulder.

“The little ferret lives and jokes on,” Bruce commented to the side. Josh hadn’t even noticed him, standing there with a bullet wound in his collarbone. He seemed unfazed by it, still calm as he ever was and looking on. “Professor looks shaken more.”

“I am,” Josh breathed. “I am. What about you?” he nodded to Bruce’s chest.

“He insists he’s fine,” Alma was standing beside him, arms crossed and foot tapping. Her hair was still all done up in a ponytail, but she’d lost the heels for her new outfit. For her height, there was anger radiating straight out of her fingers. “He won’t even let me look at it.”

“Let her look at it,” Josh tried, and Bruce rolled his eyes.

“Bruce is fine, not hurt,” Bruce insisted.

“There’s a bullet in your chest, dude,” Carter tried too. “Let the lady look at it, she’s worried.”

“It’s not _worry_ , I’m _enraged_ ,” she insisted. Josh, in that moment, find it in himself to _laugh._ They were okay. They were the same, stubborn and stupid as ever. Carter hadn’t asked him to pull away his hands.

 

By the time North and Simon made it back to Jericho, away from the crowds and given enough time for something to boil inside of Simon, he wrenched his arm away from her and spun around, eyes wide. There was _fury_ inside of them, an anger she had never seen rise up out of Simon before. Anger that made her take a step back in defense. He’d had time to let this boil. He’d had _years_ to let emotions fester in the pit of his stomach, and nearly half an hour on the escape. Everything that he’d ever wanted to say just. Poured out in a fiery spit, and it began with:

“What the hell is wrong with you!?” he shouted. “Why is everyone allowed to die for this cause but me!?”

“Simon—what?” she tried, but—

“No! You were ready to let Markus _die_! And for what!? If Markus dies, our whole cause goes with him! Do you really think we can make it without him? We’ll go right back to where we were, cowering inside a metal prison! ‘Mark our graves’, North? Our grave is right here!”

“We would carry on, I know we could, I would—”

“You’d what? Lead us all on some merry little adventure where we slaughtered humans at every turn. I know what you’ve been through better than any android in this ship, and even I know that we can’t do that! We won’t be _anything_ if we stoop to that level, but oh, let’s just kill everyone. Hard to keep us locked up when there’s no one around to enslave us anymore—are we just going to shoot our way to freedom!?”

North stiffened.

“Markus _is_ our cause! And he—we can’t just let him die. Make a martyr out of him, sure, whatever, that won’t set us free! We want _freedom_ not martyrdom.”

“He’s not dead, you absolute—”

“He was going to die! They were going to shoot him, and you were going to let them!”

“John was there—”

“What if he hadn’t been—”

“He was—”

“We’ll let John die, we’ll let Markus die, we’ll let countless androids die in the name of this cause—Allie dies and Nathan dies, and they all just fucking die,” and he stomped his foot with every syllable. “But _fuck_ if we’ll let Simon die—no, for _some_ reason this fuck up has to survive to watch all this happen, and for what!? Even you’re ready to die at a moment’s notice, but me? Am I just the happy fucking mascot now?

“You could’ve saved Markus, Josh could’ve saved him, but no—I wanted to, and suddenly we’re ready to sacrifice everything that he’s built and for what—”

“I can’t let you die, Simon!” North shrieked, shouted and her voice reverberated through the space between them, bounced on the walls and circled back. “I’m selfish, okay?! I get it! How dare I make a decision for me, but it’s for me! I can’t let you die, because I can’t live like that. I tried it! I tried living with the thought that you were gone, and _fuck_ ,” she threw her hands up, “if that wasn’t the emptiest I’ve ever felt. Why don’t you understand how important you are?! To us? Even if it’s not to the big cause, it’s to us. You’re our friend, you’re—” she sucked in a deep breath.

“I don’t know what you’ve been through,” her voice was quiet, a scowl on her face. “None of us do. You don’t get to act all high and above us when you’re the biggest _fucking_ mystery in this ship. So, don’t you _dare_ preach to me about who gets to die and who doesn’t.”

Simon’s shoulders slumped.

“Never in my wildest dreams did I think I’d do what I did,” she said. “Markus—he’s special. I told him my past, and we kissed on the roof top, and it was a dream. For a moment, I could understand what the humans feel when they look at each other, and still, when it came down to it,” she looked Simon in the eye. “I saved you. I didn’t have a choice.”

“Am I supposed to thank you? There’s _always_ a choice, and you stole mine.” Simon folded his arms.

“No, but you’re not supposed to fucking _yell_ at me. If you wanted to die so bad,” she stood firm, took a step forward, “you would’ve done it yourself.”

And. She was right. He could’ve. He’d thought about it more times than he ever wanted to admit, just ending his own life and getting away from all of this. He hadn’t. He was standing right there _arguing_ with his best friend. Her face was blotched red with the need to scream and the need to cry and no ability to know which one was appropriate. Her hands were clenched tight, her jaw a straight line of just. Disappointment. Confusion. Anger—anything. Everything that he shouldn’t have ever been the cause of, not for her. Standing there wearing Allie’s hat, in Allie’s place. Simon’s second chance to set things right.

“I’m sorry,” barely above a whisper.

“Yeah, you fucking better be,” she nearly spat. Then paused. Then, “I’m sorry, too.”

They stood there in heavy silence, in the aftermath of their fight. It was off, wrong, and North was the first one to step away. Simon just collapsed onto the nearest box and hung his head.

 

Markus was sitting up when North found him, still stained with thirium with holes in his chest, but he was sitting. When he looked up at the sound of footsteps, he and North stared at each other a long moment before she tore her gaze away and folded her hands behind her back. She’d realized something all at once, and this was its fruition. As much as she wanted a different outcome. As much as she wanted to see the future at Markus’ side in such a way that he would hold her and whisper pretty things in her ear about how they’d be okay. It just—it wasn’t something she could do. Not right now. Not with him.

“I’m sorry,” she muttered.

“North?”

“I just,” she sighed, “us? If we were anything, going anywhere—I can’t. Not where I am right now. I care about you, Markus,” she looked at him, pleading in her eyes. “I care about you so much it _hurts,_ but maybe it’s not the way I thought it was.”

Markus pulled himself to his feet.

“When you got hurt, when you were _shot_ , I just—Simon was ready to throw his life away for you, and me?” she clenched her hands into fists, clasped at her sides. “I pulled him back. If John hadn’t been there,” she looked squarely at him, now, coming to terms with reality, “you’d be dead.”

The news didn’t seem to faze him. Instead, he closed the distance between them with an outstretched arm. “Don’t apologize for that,” he told her. She accepted his quiet invitation and fell into him, wrapping her arms around his middle and standing there for a long moment.

“I care about you, too, North,” he told her. “If that’s to be as a friend, then that’s what I’ll do. This doesn’t change anything.”

It sounded too good to be true. That Markus would just be so genuine as to let her walk away if it was in her best interest. It was, she knew that much now. Given everything that Simon said, if she had truly, _truly_ been ready for what life Markus was offering her, she would’ve taken it. She would’ve let Simon die for it, might have even let herself die for it. In that moment, she’d chosen Simon over that life; all the indication she needed that her wounds were just too fresh. That they’d jumped in a little too deep, a little too fast, to something neither of them really understood. All that remained was one final patch.

“I just can’t believe that Simon was willing to do that,” Markus pulled back. He let his fingers linger in her hair for one final second before they parted completely. “I’m glad you stopped him.”

“You should talk to him,” North urged. “If anyone can understand, you’ll be able to. I just. I really think he needs that. Someone who can understand him.”

Markus nodded, “I’ll talk to him.”

After the news, Markus needed to understand now on his own. Why had Simon been so ready to give his life? Is that what he’d meant when he told them that they’d never have to get along without Markus? The idea was almost scandalous, knowing that Simon had walked into that march prepared to die in Markus’ stead if the issue arose. And it had arose. Markus had seen his life in a flash, and then the butt of a baton that never came. John had died for him instead. For Simon, he knew now. Maybe North’s impulse had taught her something, but just knowing what had caused it left Markus more confused than he’d been before. Everything brought him back to Simon. At the end, just back to Simon. A burning question of where he’d come from, what he’d seen, what he’d gone through.

Even in his state, he knew he had to find Simon. He might have asked North if he hadn’t run out of there so quickly, but the whole idea was swirling around his head. Simon had been ready to _die_ for him. That wasn’t something to be taken lightly, especially not so premeditated. Without John there to explain, the only assumption was he’d had a moment of impulse where he realized what was at stake and staked his life on it. But Simon? He’d been prepared. He’d been ready. He’d be dead if it hadn’t been for North.

That scared Markus. Simon would be _dead._ It scared Markus more that he was scared of that future—he’d already lived it once. Never wanted to see it again, but the panic was something real this time. How reckless it all was, how stupid, foolish—they could get along without him. They _would_ get along without him, he knew that. He saw a fire in North’s eyes, a passion reborn in Simon. Even Josh had been a forerunner in this passive movement, he would be able to keep it up if Markus gone. The idea that Simon would sacrifice himself so readily for something just—Markus shook his head and pressed onward.

When he finally found Simon, he was sitting in a side room on the box, unmoved from where he’d collapsed after North left. Just sitting there his head in his hands, elbows on his knees, and barely breathing. The stress was catching up with him. This whole thing was an ordeal, a nightmare of proportions he hadn’t wanted to see. Every fiber left in his being was fighting the urge to hole himself away and never speak to anyone again. A rash decision that wouldn’t lead him anywhere but down, he couldn’t keep making those. Couldn’t let them drag him back to a place he’d fought so hard to escape. Back to those thoughts. Back to _believing_ those thoughts. Maybe he could still hear them, but he could fight them now. As long as he kept trying. He almost didn’t hear Markus enter. Almost didn’t hear him speak.

“Simon—” Markus came to sit beside him. “Are you alright? Simon,” and he trailed off, watching as Simon dropped his hands and barely moved to glance over.

“I didn’t think you’d be up yet,” was all he said.

“Never mind me. North told me—she told me that you tried to sacrifice yourself for me,” disbelief. He had to hear it from Simon.

Simon mulled it on for a moment before nodding, “I guess that’s what I did.”

“How could you do that? How could you even think that it would—”

“I wasn’t thinking,” Simon said, and the irritation in his voice was growing, festering again. “I think that part was pretty clear. I saw that, and I knew I couldn’t let it happen. I’ve known that from the start, that you _can_ _’t_ die.”

“I know you could get along without me. I’m not the be all of this cause. Our people’s fight won’t end with me—”

“Don’t you see how wrong you are!?” Simon flew from his seat. “You don’t know Jericho without you, how could you!? You’ve always been you, and now you’re here, and Jericho _has_ you, and we’re doing so much more than I ever—” he stopped short, groaning to himself and burying his face in his hands again.

“I want to understand, Simon,” Markus was pleading, now. And there was only one way he knew that he _could_ understand. “Please, I want to understand everything you’re telling me, but I can’t. I can’t—not unless you help me,” he held out his hand. Stark white.

Simon stared forward and was _scared._ But. Markus had that look in his eye. Pleading, desperate. He didn’t want to understand, he needed to understand. They all did, really, even Josh hadn’t been there to see it all. Had only known what he’d seen at Jericho and not where it all started. But _fuck_ if it didn’t scare Simon half to death. The thought of touching Markus’ hand now. He only had to share enough. Only had to let Markus see what he needed. He’d manipulated this before; he could do it again—

“Simon, _please_. Just trust me. I want to understand, I want to help, I want to do whatever I can, but you have to let me. You have to let _someone,_ or nothing will ever change, so why not me?”

Simon gulped. He just had to keep control, keep composure, and he could do this. He wanted to, so bad, but the fear was telling him everything else. Make sure that Markus only saw what Simon wanted him to see, nothing more. Keep himself hidden, locked away. Everything told him to keep away, keep it to himself, but he sat back down beside Markus anyway. Retracted his skin. Pressed their palms together, and—

Every comprehensible thought he’d had was washed away, suddenly _overcome_ with feelings that weren’t his. Stress, grief, anger, confusion. Behind it all was a _life._ He saw Markus sitting down to learn the piano, the mornings spent laughing at Carl’s bed side, preparing him breakfast, and the studio. He watched Markus paint through his own eyes, and then the _grief_. Fighting back in blaring, loud red. The tears, the flashes, and the push. The blood, the tears—the _tears_. Left for dead. Forgotten. _Fear._ Fear that bled back into the stress and the grief and the anger and the confusion in one long loop of memories on playback, of moments on repeat. North, smiles and tears mixed with emotions he couldn’t quite place as they _kissed—_

Kissed. Kissing. The first time Simon had pressed a kiss to Mikaela’s forehead when he laid her down to sleep. She’d been sick and warm, insisting on it because Mom—Tanya, the memory supplied—always had. Mikaela became everything in a sudden swirl of pride and love, for the word of a feeling Simon had only dreamed of in deviancy. To school, to the store, to friends. Everything, she was the world. A world left behind in a sudden quake and turn of events as Simon found himself in the arms of a man. The name rang out in a painful, sharp tune of Vincent, Vincent, _Vincent_ , a name that made Markus’ first curl up as he listened, saw, watched as _Vincent_ had laid Simon out on the floor in front of the fireplace. Kissed. Kissing. A sudden swirl of hate, hate, hate, _hate, hate, hate—_ and Jericho was there in a surrounding cloud of safe and wonder and _fear_ in all the ways it should have never been, but there were friends there.

Friends—family, a new one. Hidden behind the sharp words and bitter laughs, but there in the bright face of a young boy—the sudden _wrench_ to the beat of a heart still going strong in Simon’s chest. A first sacrifice—then in the eyes of Allie with hands stained blue with thirium and _that hat_ tugged round down her ears. Smiling, smiling, always smiling. Always, always, always, even in _death_ as she lay there with blue dripping down her face and over the walls and out her chest and _murder—_ the second sacrifice, and third in a broken beaten down—Andromeda died. There was blue in the outward visions as it all turned around and upside down in broken, hurt confusion. Markus saw the memories, the walks to the CyberLife store. The run from the police. The night Simon was shot for the first time. How they’d saved his life. The damage it had done and walked on to watch as he couldn’t give up after that. As androids died in waves, more joined. Then Markus joined and there was _light_ at the end of the path, in a flashlight right in his face, and Markus might have even _laughed_ if he’d known. But there was so much more whirling around int he pits of awe and pride and _love—_ but hesitation. Fear and wonderment and curiosity and fear. And it all led back. All cycled through and turned in on itself in a sudden wrest of pain and led back to Vincent.

Every road had led away.

Every road led back.

Every memory, every hurt, everything Simon had done: all of it led back to that moment. Back to that bed—

Simon all but tore his hand from Markus in his sudden panic, his _need_ to get away. He tripped over his own two feet and fell to the floor in his haste, stared onward at Markus with eyes wide and fingers trembling into the floor. No feature went unchecked. It was there, in the holes of his pupils. Shock. Horror.

_Disgust._

He should’ve known—should have known. Markus wouldn’t understand. None of them could. No one would. It was Simon’s cross to bear, and he’d rather throw himself into the sea in spite of it all.

“Simon—” Markus started, but Simon was already scrambling to his feet.

“I have to go,” he said, hurried. “I have to—” his breath caught up in his throat, a sudden wave of static. Of Panic.

“Wait, don’t—” but Simon didn’t stick around to hear the rest.

He fled as fast as his legs could carry him, grabbing the walls for support, but he ran. He’d fucked up. He’d ruined _everything_ by trusting Markus, and now he’d never look at Simon the same way again. Markus knew _everything._ Every horrid little detail, no matter how personal. Worst of it all, Simon had just _let him_. Euphoria had caught up and stolen every thought from his mind that didn’t belong to Markus, Markus— _Markus_ —and how he regretted it. That was the end of anything and everything that might have ever been, and there wasn’t even anything yet. He’d been so stupid to think, to believe that this would work.

In his haste, he even ran past North. With only her shout after him to tell him he’d done so. Jericho was a blur. Walls morphed into doors morphed into androids morphed into walls and corridors. Only by touch did Simon keep himself upright, did he know where he was. He didn’t stop until he’d slammed the door of his room shut and turned the giant wheel, locking himself in there, then stumbled back and collapsed on the floor. He scooted back until he hit into boxes, then finally let himself go. Head in his arms, crouched over and huddled into a little ball, Simon was just crying. Crying like it was all he could manage to do, the blur in his vision, the static in his throat—crying _was_ all he could do.

When the banging on the door started, he curled farther up in on himself and tuned it out. Willed it away when he disconnected his audio input. He covered his head with his arms and wished the world away as he sat there through the panic. Wishing, _wishing,_ that he could throw himself to sea and drift away. Far away, to wherever androids went when they were through.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who saw that coming?  
> [CyberShips Tower](https://discord.gg/T7sW7DB)  
> [Check Out My Tumblr If You Want To See More](https://tantumuna.tumblr.com)  
> 


	33. Chapter 33

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Could a depressed person do THIS:
> 
> another chapter. yay me, these fingers working fast as lightning very very frightening kung fu fighting whatever it is you wanna say about it. Character development chapter and the wild conclusion of Simon's piss baby fit. Next chapter is gonna be a drama one >;3c

November 13th, 2038-

Concerned knocking had dissipated, at the twelfth hour, into angry shouts. Simon heard none of them, had drown them all out at the third hour, long ago, with his audio processors fully shut off and eyes tightly closed. Eventually, it died out altogether, and the silence was no longer entirely self-made. In the aftermath of their march, there were more important things to worry about than Simon’s self-isolation, as much as it hurt to admit that aloud. Androids were flocking to Jericho, in all manner of states. Some of them were shutting down the moment they entered, and it was becoming clear, quickly, that they were short on parts and thirium. Without Simon to help, things were complicated. But, as North emerged for the last time of banging on his door, it had been thirteen hours since he’d locked himself away. It was time to move on. Time to devote their full attention elsewhere, instead of giving these short bursts to someone who obviously would rather be away from the world. The world, which at that very moment, was plotting their demise.

Markus stood, leaning forward to the windows that he might see the newscast out on the walls. There were androids scattered all over Jericho, and this seemed the only place left quiet enough to think without removing himself. They were too late in the game for him to think only of himself and disappear at a moment’s notice, though he thought so without bitterness. Simon—Simon needed the time, and they would be alright without him. Markus only shifted when he heard footsteps back into the room and turned to watch North find herself a seat. She was alone; the three of them were alone now. Josh was hunched over at the table, thinking squarely about something.

“I take it he’s still not answering?” Markus hoped.

“Screw him,” North huffed. “If he wants to pout in his room for the rest of his life, then let him.”

Markus didn’t respond. When he turned back to the news cast, he winced at the images being shown. Detroit, in a state of emergency. The president herself stepping forward to declare these peaceful presentations as acts of terrorism—that Androids were a threat to national security. Camps were underway, being set up all over the city as easy dumping grounds to _destroy_ them. Those who hadn’t yet turned deviant but may in the future. Deviants who hadn’t made it to Jericho and never would. All of it led Markus back to one conclusion—the one that he’d feared the most since he’d taken up this mantle.

He didn’t know what to do.

After Simon had run out on him, he’d taken a moment to himself and changed into clothes without thirium stains and bullet holes. Thirium was supposed to evaporate after a while, but he had learned now there was such a thing as too much thirium. In bright and solemn memories of Allie. Her thirium stained tank top. Markus had combed through these memories of Simon’s for hours, looking for anything that might help, looking for anything that might explain the piece of information he’d missed. Nothing. He came up empty every time. Every android before him had hit this crossroads and came to the same conclusion. Unsure of what to do, Jericho closed its doors, and they went into hiding. Markus couldn’t do that.

_Set our people free._

He had to find a way to keep them going. There were so many of them. Some still dressed in their uniforms, others having picked through the scraps and dressed themselves more appropriately. Outside, it was snowing, and inside the metal walls, there was no warmth to be found.

_When I wake up, I want to live in the world outside of Jericho._

Markus grit his teeth. He was entering a stage where he was learning something of warmth and cold. It was why he dressed himself the way he did, now, in a long sleeve gray shirt and a long, brown overcoat. For the first time in his life, he was cold. The high collar helped protect against the wind, and the sleeves did what little they could. Fire made up for the rest, but there was no fire burning in their little room. All he had were memories swimming around in such a way that the lines between them blurred, unsure of which belonged to him and which were remnants of a broken connection. Simon had pulled away so fast—

“—Markus, are you even listening?” Josh sounded irritated.

“Sorry,” he turned to face them. “I was lost in thought.”

“Obviously,” North rolled her eyes, but there was no malice behind it. “We need to plan our next moves. With everything we’ve done, it’s only a matter of time before they find us here. And with what they’re doing to our people?” she gestured to the projected newscast, a voice over explaining that androids were to be dropped off at the nearest camp starting at dawn of the following day. “We’re about to lose our fight.”

Markus sat down on a metal chair, up against the far wall, and sighed. From this angle, he could see the newscast better, and the sound was muffled. For that, he was grateful. They were showing progress video of the camps being set up. It cut off after that, a brief break for sponsorships and commercials.

“I’ll be honest,” Markus said, “I don’t know what more we can do besides make everyone comfortable. Short of starting a war—” he shook his head, leaned down over his knees, and sighed.

“There has to be something we can do,” though North sounded doubtful.

When the newscast returned, it was a recent story. A follow up on the Stratford Tower case, the woman said. That they had been unable to apprehend the androids who orchestrated the _attack_ , and that new reports revealed that the deviant they had managed to capture was too damaged to interrogate. There was no word on a follow up, but they were marking this case as an official need-to-know-basis. Though it all seemed like speculation. News only left that the FBI had been assigned to the recent android _attacks_ and would be coordinating with the Detroit Police Force. Agent Perkins, as the anchor called him, had been on the job for the week, but they’d only just now gotten clearance to report it to the masses.

The screen flipped to footage of the police department headquarters. The story drawled on into another informational about the Deviant Hunter, they were calling him. An android sent by CyberLife to help investigate the deviant outbreak. While Bruce hadn’t described him, he fit the bill. He was the same android that Bruce had seen leaving Stratford Tower on his famed rescue mission. The one who would be coming after them. Of the entire human force—this android was the only one who stood a chance at finding Jericho. Especially now, the doors left wide opened and no longer few enough of them coming to be greeted and helped individually.

Connor, working alongside one of Detroit’s finest, an old detective named Hank Anderson.

Markus sighed and clasped his fingers behind his head, leaning back into the wall as he sucked in a deep breath.

“I have no doubt,” Markus said. “If that Connor has any decent programming, he’ll find us. They’ll bring the fight straight to us.”

“We should prepare, then,” Josh decided. “If worse comes to worst, we should at least be prepared to defend ourselves.”

“I agree, Markus—”

“Whatever you need to do,” he said. “I need to think.”

 

Josh made his way down to the bottom floor and looked around. The newscast was playing on almost every wall, in the room beside Markus with the sound turned off. There was no escape from it. All of the androids were standing, sitting, murmuring as they watched humans who didn’t understand talk to decide their fate. Camps to be erected. Come dawn, androids would need to be dropped off at the nearest one. The army was moving in, a curfew beginning. All of it—none of it made sense. They’d done nothing violent. No human had died at the hand of this revolution, but the force they were to be met with was astounding. Large, terrifying. With more gun power than they could ever hope to find. Even with guns in the hull of the ship. If Markus was right, Jericho was to see her first and final battle in the coming days, it was only a matter of time. Only a matter of how good this deviant hunter was. And who were they to even face this force?

Decrepit and cold. Jericho was always damp, the fires barely provided light and barely provided warmth. Most of the androids with them were new deviants, still coming to terms with what it meant. Learning what pain felt like and what temperature was. Learning how to _feel._ They weren’t some elite fighting force, and they never would be. All they had going was it took more than one bullet to shut them down. With the military, now, they didn’t even have the numbers. Markus was right. They had no offense, and until they could react, there was nothing more to do than to make them comfortable as they watched their future unfold on the screen. What little thirium they had left, Josh would distribute to those who needed it. Other than that, they had only clothes and blankets to provide. Maybe a small tale of hope, but knowing that Markus was sitting up in that nest with his head in his hands, just as confuse das the rest of them? Hope seemed a far-fetched ideal.

It was just after Josh had handed out the third bag of thirium that he wasn’t alone anymore. There was a sudden weight as his side that dragged him off in that direction, a quick twirl that almost made him drop his bag. While he might have been mad, Carter’s hand pressed up against it to keep it from falling. Pushing it into Josh’s chest as his other hand lingered just shy of his neck, like he might mean to drag Josh’s head down if they weren’t directly in the middle of Jericho with prying eyes and a _job_ to do. Carter was never too concerned about jobs.

“I know, like, a lot of people dig the broody look,” Carter grinned, “but it’s not good for you. Makes your forehead crease up all the way down to your nose, and you look like an eighteenth-century nun about to slap some poor kid’s hand.”

“Like you’d really know what that looks like,” Josh tried to pull back.

“I do, because I’m about to be the poor kid, and you _really_ need to lighten up,” Carter finally let him go. Carter was just barely, barely taller than North, which left him nearly a whole head shorter than Josh. Until that very moment, it hadn’t posed a problem, but now Josh was arching back the kink in his back from the force. Carter had the audacity to stand there with a smug little look on his face until Josh was situated again.

“I’m not going to slap you,” he said, still all too serious. “I thought you’d know by now that I don’t agree with violence—”

“Yeesh,” Carter folded his arms. “Sorry, I didn’t realize I’d just walked into the Serious-Mister-Professor convention.”

“Carter.”

“Sorry,” he held his hands up. “Really, this time I’m sorry. Thought I’d try to cheer you up a little, guess I fucked up.”

“No, it’s just,” Josh sighed. “Everything that’s going on. We’re at a loss, the humans are preparing to start rounding us up for extermination—”

“And you’re the blue blood waitress,” Carter filled in the rest. “This feels like a last-ditch effort in the wake of the world ending. Please don’t tell me the world’s ending.”

Josh opted to say nothing at all.

“Just because you don’t tell me it’s ending doesn’t mean it’s _not_ ending. Come on,” Carter sighed. “Josh, if the world is really ending, and we’re all about to die, at _least_ pretend like you’re happy to see me, yeah?”

“Who said I wasn’t?”

“The nun that lives in your forehead wrinkles. Now, come on, let me help.” Carter reached for the bag, but Josh stopped him. A sudden firm grip around his wrist that kept him from pulling the bag back, but certainly didn’t stop him from grabbing onto it.

“Carter—”

“Save the confession for when we win, yeah?” Carter raised an eyebrow. “I don’t need any death speeches hanging over me for this.”

“You’re _awfully_ full of yourself,” Josh gave an exasperated smile, a sigh, but Carter had won.

“You should try it sometime, Sister. Might give you the hope you need to pull out of this alive—because you _will_ pull out of this alive,” Carter yanked the bag back and held it just so he could pull out the next bag. “You hear me? Because if you don’t, I’m gonna have to find your dead corpse and kill you again, because _I_ _’m_ certainly making it out of this alive.”

“Yeah,” Josh said.

“’Yeah’, he says,” Carter rolled his eyes. “And the man writes poetry, everyone!” he threw his hands up and began to walk. Josh trailed behind him.

It wouldn’t be that easy, to just throw up their hands and pretend the world wasn’t about to burn. But for a moment, he could believe that it was that easy. Carter just prattled on, endlessly, with his stories and his tales, and the androids who listened would laugh. Josh laughed. He’d had every chance to turn Carter away, berate him for just how insensitive he could come across, but at the end of it all, Carter meant well. He did well, he did _good_ for the androids. Made them forget about the newscast playing on the wall and stopped to give a little girl android a bouncy ball he’d had in his pocket. The one that North used to play with but had since passed on. They couldn’t be so humdrum and serious all the time. Life like that wouldn’t be much of a life, after all. As terrible as their situation was, remembering that it was okay to laugh was more hope in the moment than another victory might have been.

At the very least, Josh had the chance to clear his head and let Carter take over. The humans only needed to listen, for a moment. Markus was the face of their revolution, and he set their tone. Somewhere, in the mass of words, there were ones that would do the job. That could break through this wall the humans had built between them and make them understand what they wanted. No more slavery, freedom, rights. Without violence and without bloodshed. If Markus could somehow get that across, Josh was sure they would have to listen.

 

North was cracking crates open with her bare hands, frustration fueling her force and her grumbling. Everything about their situation was taking a turn for the worse, and there was nothing they could do about it but sit there and wait. She’d spent her whole life sitting somewhere and waiting for things to happen. To happen _to_ her, and now she was put right back in a box with the same target on her back. Wait until the humans attacked. To do anything else would be suicide, and even she knew that. She was beginning to understand. A peaceful approach had been met with military force, she could only fathom what a violent approach might have been met with. Might it have spelled her death or any of their deaths. As much as that darkness still spurred on, and as much as she still felt that dripping desire for revenge, this was the best outcome they could have hoped for so far. She was alive. Simon was alive. Markus was alive. Josh was alive.

The chosen path had been rough so far, a difficult walk. With the end drawing near, she knew now that all she had to do was continue to trust what Markus was capable of. That had been the truth of it all, at the end, of what had drawn her to him. For all he was, it was his actions that North had cared so much for. Now she could see with clarity—he was, no doubt, her friend, but this was all happening for the best. Even the peaceful demonstrations, as much as she had hated them. Progress was progress. Humans were trying to rip it from their hands before they’d even reaped the benefits. Still, there was no denying the path they’d walked and the mark they’d left. If it all ended here, they would leave something behind for more androids to find, to follow, to fight for.

All that remained was to trust that Markus knew what to do, that he would find what to do. Until then, she would make sure every last android who could handle it would be able to defend themselves. If only a few of them could fight back, that would give time for the others to escape. If Markus’ hunch was to be believed, that Jericho was about to meet her end, an escape was all that they could hope for. One that they all made it out on.

She was caught up in her thoughts, sorting through the guns they’d amassed, when she turned and stopped dead with a gasp. “Simon—” she cried, “what the hell?!”

He stared up at her, eyes gaunt and dark. His fingers appeared to be trembling, and where North was ready to scream at him for his antics, it died on her lips when she noticed the blotches around his eyes.

“He hates me, North,” was all he said before his knees looked ready to give out and crumble beneath him. North all but threw the gun in her hand to the side in her rush to catch him, and they both tumbled to the floor: Simon’s head tucked up under her chin as she held him tight.

“Nobody hates you, Simon, nobody hates you. What are you talking about?” however gruff her voice, she had one hand in his hair and one on his back. The world fell silent around them with the echo of the fall, for a long moment, only punctuated with Simon’s shaky breaths as he tried to gather himself.

“Simon, please talk to me,” she tried again. Over a month and not once had she ever seen him like this. So broken, helpless. Lying on the floor, now, like a shattered doll. Over time, she’d learned that he was simply quiet. It was more than that. An overly subtle attempt to keep himself together, one suppressed memory at a time. They’d all broke the surface again.

“I trusted him—he told me to trust him, and I did—” Simon’s voice was filled with static, cracking through the dry heaves. Whatever he’d been doing now, for fourteen hours, there had been crying. He had no more liquid left to cry, reduced to just the gasping noise.

“Calm down, calm down,” she told him. “Just calm down, you don’t have to tell me.”

“I do! I do have to—”

“Shut up, Simon,” she muttered into the side of his head. Silence came after her command and lasted a long wild. Minutes clicked by. First five, then ten, and finally Simon shifted at exactly twelve minutes and thirty-eight seconds. He pulled back to look at North, to scrub his eyes and let out a shuddering sigh.

“Markus,” he started. “I shared everything with him,” his eyes shut tight, head shaking. “I didn’t mean to, but he just—I trusted him. With all of it, and before I knew it, I’d shown him _everything._ ”

“What happened?”

“He just _looked_ at me. With _disgust_. How could I do something like that? How could I _tell_ someone that I did that?” It became clear, all at once, that Simon wasn’t horrified by sharing his past. He was horrified _by_ his past. For as long as he’d kept it a secret, it seemed so obvious now. Something he found too heinous to talk about had taken place, so he’d locked it up inside where no one ever had to know but him. Only, Markus knew. Markus was now the only one who knew, and whatever that meant, it was too late to fix anything.

“Well, fuck Markus, then,” North said with such an earnest that Simon believed her. “He hasn’t lived your life, so he doesn’t have to understand. You deserve someone who _would_ understand, and I—” she stopped short when Simon extended his hand towards her, white.

“Simon—”

“Please,” he whispered. He’d said it all in that moment, that he needed to get this off his chest. That he needed someone who would understand. That North would understand. His implications terrified her, but she didn’t hesitate to press their palms together.

Down, down, down underneath the putrid regret of survival, underneath the grief of all the death he’d witnessed, between the mashed together stories of so many androids, around the names and the faces of his friends, at the bottom North found it. This festering kind of darkness so black it was hard to glance into, but when she did, she understood all at once. When she pulled her hand back, it was a gentle and slow movement, laying her hand in her lap and looking at Simon. In the deep amber of her eyes, Simon saw what he wanted.

She understood.

“You did nothing wrong,” her voice was nothing more than a whisper. “You didn’t have a choice, you were his _slave_.”

“I’d deviated by then,” he bit back. “I knew exactly what I was doing, _I_ made that choice. And I just—I just let it happen. I let him do those things to me—”

“You didn’t have a choice, Simon, look at me,” she tugged him closer, her hands clasped around the back of his neck, so it was just their world for a moment. The two of them. “Humans hate us. They look at us as lesser, with disgust. If you had denied him, what type of consequence would you have faced? As it stands now, you made it out of there with your life and your freedom.”

“But I—”

“No,” she stopped him short. “None of that. Look at where this has brought you, look at how much good you did because of it. Androids died, sure, but you can’t hold yourself responsible for every single death that comes of this. You gave them peace; you gave them comfort in a place where comfort couldn’t be. Tell yourself what you know but you’re too scared to admit, I saw all of it. I know.”

Simon stared at her.

“It’s okay.”

What he knew but he had been too afraid to admit to himself. All of it was too easy to hang himself on, to let this regret well up inside of him, because it’s what he was made for. He was made to take care of others, and when he couldn’t, what was left to do other than to assume the blame and move forward. North was right, though. He’d given peace to androids in their final moment who would never have been saved. That even if they’d had the parts, Tav was already too far gone and would’ve died anyway. Benjamin couldn’t be saved. He’d shut himself down because it was the only escape, he could have, and Taylor followed. Logan’s damage would’ve been too much for any of them to handle. But this. This was easy. The things that he knew and wasn’t afraid of.

“Simon,” North whispered. Her hands slipped down to his jaw to keep him from looking away. “Nathan was going to die anyway. If he had any chance of survival, he would’ve never been tossed out, and you know it. This way, he hasn’t died in vain, and you carry him with you everywhere you go.”

There was one.

“Allie might have survived if you’d gone a different way, but you can’t change the past. In that moment, you did everything you could for her. You would’ve never made it back in time to fix her and leaving her to bleed out would’ve been cruel.” Simon could feel the material of the beanie as North bumped their heads together. “You made up for it,” she whispered. “You saved me.”

Two.

“Andromeda believed in you. If she hadn’t, she would have never sacrificed herself to save you. She knew the three of you weren’t making it out of that warehouse alive, better her than you. She was broken, Simon, in so many ways. You,” and she stopped to laugh, “may have an impeccable skill for hurting your leg, but you’re in perfect condition. You can survive this, and you will. You’ve survived so much before.”

Simon let his eyes close. When North let him go, he planted his forehead onto her shoulder.

“What about Markus?” he asked.

North snorted, “you’re whipped,” she said, “and if he can’t appreciate that, then like I said, screw him.” After a beat, she continued, “he doesn’t hate you.”

“How do you know?”

“You’re all he talked about. He’s worried about you.” She pulled Simon back so she could look him in the eye, so he knew she wasn’t lying. “He’s got so much of you in his head right now, he can’t focus on the revolution. He’ll be happy to know you didn’t die in there.”

Simon nodded weakly.

“Come on,” North stood up and yanked Simon with her. He came willingly, though he stumbled. “You need to get caught up on things. I’ve got to finish up here but go to the meeting room. Watch the news,” then, quieter, “talk to Markus.”

Talk to Markus. He could do that.

“And, Simon?” North called after him, before he left the room.

“Hm?” he turned just his head.

“You haven’t done anything wrong. You told me that once, too, so if you can look at me, knowing what I was, and think that I’ve done nothing wrong, you haven’t done anything wrong, either. Just two really shitty situations.”

“Two survivors,” Simon amended.

North smiled. “Let’s survive the next round, too.”

The feel-good moment wasn’t to last, and he knew that well enough. He just hadn’t expected to get hit with the news the second he entered the news area, the screens plastered all over the wall screaming the android terrors, showing pictures and video of camp construction. By dawn, they continued to say. By dawn, androids would be rounded up. By dawn, the countdown to extermination would begin. All androids, destroyed, dismembered, and recycled. Simon gulped and pressed on. North was right. He needed to talk to Markus, but he needed to work up the courage for that. The dread stories on the news weren’t helping, even when they cut to interviews. Some of those interviewed seemed horrified by the developments of camps, of denying androids their freedom, but it did scarcely little to put Simon at ease. Instead, he pressed on until he found Josh and Carter handing out what looked to be their last bag of thirium to a personal android covered in burn marks.

“Ah, the prodigal son returns,” Carter noticed him first.

“What is with you and the religious things today—Simon,” Josh’s eyes went wide when he turned. They fell right into it, a quick hug and a quick explanation. Neither Josh nor Carter asked for details, but they didn’t need to know the whole story. Just enough to really understand where Simon had come from, what had led him to the shoes he walked in now. When he was done—

“That’s rough, man,” Carter said.

Somehow, Simon found it in himself to laugh.

Bruce was sitting comfortably against a wall, Alma perched up on a few boxes beside him. The bullet would had completely healed, and given the sudden influx of androids, he’d even taken to a change of clothes. Up until then, he’d still been dressed in his uniform. It was hard to find clothes to fit an android Bruce’s size, but he’d managed well enough with a wide-neck sweater and a pair of jeans, the sleeves rolled up and legs tucked into a pair of muddy boots. They looked comfortable in their silence, Bruce’s eyes closed and Alma’s angled off towards the newscast.

Alma had offered to leave, but Simon didn’t mind. With each iteration of the story, it was easier to tell. Quicker. Like a band-aid just ripped clean off.

“Ah,” Bruce said at its close, “there is a lion in there.”

That seemed enough.

Simon didn’t make it two feet before there was a tap on his shoulder, twirling him around to come face to face with an android he didn’t know or recognize. A short woman with big eyes and chopped, stark white hair. Tired overtook her entire face, though she seemed well put together in a dark blue coat, jeans, and boots. If Simon didn’t recognize her face so well, the face of an AX400, he would have mistaken her for a human. If only they all could have done such a good job disguising themselves.

“I’m looking for Markus,” she said. “Do you know him?”

Simon scoffed, “what a coincidence, I’m looking for him too.”

She blinked at him, lips parted like she was searching for something to say.

“I know him, he’s up there,” Simon pointed up the stairs, to where the glass of the room looked over the floor. “Let me take you there.”

“Thank you,” she nodded. “What’s your name?”

“Simon. I’m pretty much a fixture of Jericho at this point, you?” he led her to the stairs, and she hurried behind him.

“Kara. I’m here with—I’m here with my family. We’re looking to get across the border. I was told Markus could help,” she looked at him with earnest.

“Should be able to.” They sidestepped around a group of androids. “Though, you should think about staying for a while,” he gestured up to the newscast. A repeat video being shown of the camps’ construction.

“I, I don’t know. We’ve been on the move this whole time.”

“Well, whatever you decide to do,” Simon stopped short, just out of eyesight, and pointed to the open door of the room. Inside, he could barely see Markus sitting up against the wall, bent over and staring at the ground. “There’s Markus.”

“Do you think we’ll be safe here?” Kara asked suddenly.

“As safe as we can be.”

Kara hurried off towards the door after that. Simon watched the exchange, as she stood there in some type of nervousness and told Markus her story. That she’d come a long way with a little girl and another android, hoping to get across the border. The schedule she had told her they had one more bus scheduled for the following night, and that was the bus they needed to be on. Markus did just as Simon expected: attempted to persuade her to stay at Jericho for the time. Raids would begin at dawn, with the opening of the camp, and for now: Jericho was safe. No one had found them yet, so it would be better to wait. If Kara and her family were to be caught out in that mess, there’s no telling what could happen to them. She listened.

Before she left, Markus told her what she needed to hear. That they had an android who used to work for the state department wandering around somewhere. He’d find them and have modified passports forwarded to her, so she could escape. Kara left with a hurried nod and a thank you, stepping out through the doorway after answering something hushed enough that Simon couldn’t hear. She passed a thanks to him, then disappeared back down the stairs. Talk of family left a strange feeling in the pit of Simon’s stomach, and as much as he might like to meet hers, he had a destination in front of him. One he could not readily ignore. However, he could stand there and let the worry prick at the back of his neck a while longer. He was just staring in, watching Markus mull something over before clasping his hands over the back of his head again. He stood, walked around in a brief circle, then sat back down again. He didn’t seem to know what to do with himself. Seeing Markus just as worried about something gave Simon the smallest bit of confidence that he needed to enter the room.

Markus stopped dead in his half-circle pace to stare at Simon. The scene laid itself out familiarly, only Simon was digging his fingernails into the door frame and trying to keep himself from panicking. This wasn’t a happy reunion, not like when he’d finally returned from Stratford Tower. Panic was rising up inside of him the longer he looked at Markus, his mouth gaping and pressing tight as he tried to think of anything to say, but he was stuck. Fixated. Disgust teeming on the edges of Markus’ eyes in such a way that Simon couldn’t tell if it was there or not, but he was looking for it. Terrified that it would be there. Watched it flicker in and out—or maybe it was just the way the television lights danced around the room. It was enough for Simon to take a step back.

“Wait,” Markus didn’t jolt, didn’t make any sudden movements. Just stood there with his hand out. “Don’t run away this time. Simon—just stay.”

Simon stayed. When it was clear staying was his intention, Markus let his hand drop down to his side.

“I see you changed again,” Simon barely croaked out.

“Oh—yeah, uh,” Markus stiffened, “the bullet holes. Not a good look.”

Simon shook his head. Then, silence. Neither of them quite sure what to say or what to do, what wounds were too deep, where they could go. Just as it looked like Simon’s nerves might run out, like he might run, Markus spoke.

“Simon—” he didn’t have anything to say, just couldn’t bear to watch him walk away. “I’m. I’m glad you’re okay,” he settled on.

Simon gave a weak smile.

“Just seeing that, it was a lot. Nothing that I expected from the way you act. I wasn’t sure how to take it all in.”

Simon’s smile turned bitter, “you don’t have to sugar coat it.” Maybe North was right. Maybe he’d done nothing wrong, but that didn’t make the feeling disappear. Support wouldn’t fix him overnight.

“I’m not trying to. I just didn’t know what to say,” he rubbed the back of his neck. “I still don’t.”

“I wouldn’t either,” Simon muttered. “It’s disgusting, I know.”

Markus blinked, “disgusting? What—what are you talking about?”

Now Simon wasn’t quite so sure about the direction they were heading.

“You think your—you can’t really think your _feelings_ for me are disgusting, can you?”

“What?” Simon jerked, confusion painted all over his face. The feeling was mutual, given the raised eyebrow and wide-eyed look Markus returned back to him.

“Wait,” Markus held his hands up, “what are _you_ talking about?”

“I mean, I just assumed,” now Simon felt stupid, “you were talking about Vincent. And what I did. I just—I assumed,” Simon clamped his lips shut.

Markus relaxed in front of him all at once, shaking his head. “I _can_ talk about Vincent, if you need me to, but it’s not really my place. I don’t have any experience with something like that, so things I say would just be empty,” he took a step closer. “I can support you through whatever choices you need to make, listen to you, if that’s what you need, but I wouldn’t know what to tell you without sounding like I can fix your problems. I can’t. I wish I could, Simon, I do, but I can’t.

“I was talking about this, just, overwhelming feeling I had when we connected like that. I didn’t know, I never knew you _felt_ like this.”

Simon sniffed. “I was hoping you never found out,” a sheepish admittance.

“Simon—” Markus tried to come forward, tried to reach out, but Simon stepped to the side.

“Don’t say anything, please. I talked to North; I’ve seen the news. There’s something big happening, and I’d rather neither of us do anything we regret.”

“That’s very prudent of you.”

Simon shrugged.

“If that’s what you’d prefer, that’s fine. I won’t say anything. But, promise me one thing.”

“What’s that?”

Markus had a hard line set in his jaw, through his lips, and he looked at Simon with such a seriousness that Simon was helpless but to stand there and give his full attention. “You’ll survive to hear what I have to say.”

Simon could promise that.

 

November 14th, 2038-

Dawn came and went. The camps were erected, the raids began. The snow began to fall, and it was cold. Jericho sat in silence as the hours ticked on, live news coverage ringing out in her hollow halls with quiet androids watching in fear. Live footage was being broadcast of raids, news coverage of the army barracks and police station as androids were being handed in. Handed in or rounded up, one way or another, they were going to camps. There was still no news on the progress the Detroit Police Department was making, but neither was there any news at all. Only that the FBI was still working closely with them, no further details given. All they could do was watch helplessly, unsure of what the future might hold, if not for those camps.

Kara had stayed the night, as Markus had talked her into. Her anxiousness was apparent as the time passed, though none could calm her. Her anxiousness was just visible, where so many other androids felt the same gnawing in the back of their skulls while the news played on before them. They weren’t just being loaded up; they were being stripped of their identities. Their clothing, their skin, their hair: none of it was left. All it took was some horrid looking machine to press into the back of their necks and all of it dropped away, the one thing they had any control over. Gone. It was horrifying to see. Horrifying to think that they were next.

North had opted to walk away from it all, mid-cast. There was no sense lying around waiting for things to happen, though she’d already prepared as much as she could for what supplies they had. There was a matter of clothing to busy herself with, though. Finding something new to wear that would be able to combat the cold she was beginning to feel and understand. Detroit’s weather was none too favorable, even just nearing the end of autumn. Instead of a shirt to reveal her shoulders, she opted for a jacket this time, kept down with a cross-body bag. It went well with the jeans, a new pair of boots, but she stopped short to stare at herself in a jagged piece of glass. Things were coming to an end, she could feel that. Whether that meant victory or death, they would be free. One way or another. The hat felt too sacred to drag through that, somewhere where it might be lost. She pulled it off her head and stood there, hair falling down over her shoulders.

“They’re wondering where you went,” Simon’s voice interrupted her. She scoffed.

“I can’t stand that room. They’re all sitting around and waiting to die. I did enough of that.”

“I know what you mean, but they’re new,” he approached her to pluck the hat from her hands, over her shoulder, “they need to get their fill.”

“Very funny. What are you doing with that?” Simon was already unzipping her bag and stashing the hat away.

“I’m sure you know this, but I’ll explain for good measure,” he said. “I used to take care of a little girl with long, long hair. If we really are going to face the final confrontation soon, however Markus plans on proceeding, this kind of hair isn’t good.”

“Not good? What, you don’t like it?” she raised an eyebrow.

“No, it’ll just get in the way. Imagine trying to fight with your hair in your face.”

“What are you suggesting then?”

“I got lost trying to find you,” he smiled, “so, I won’t be back for a bit. Let me braid your hair.”

She couldn’t contain her laughter. “Wait, braid my hair? You’re serious, aren’t you?”

“Absolutely. You can mess with your bangs all you want, but the hair? If you didn’t want it long, you wouldn’t have grown it out.” He sat down sideways on a crate, then patted the space in front of him. Though North looked ready to burst out in uncontrollable, disbelieving laughter, she sat down just where Simon had gestured.

“Her name was Mikaela, right?” North asked. She leaned back as Simon ran his fingers through her hair, separating it out.

“Yeah. I called her Mikki, though. She liked to call me Si.”

“Si,” North mimicked. “That’s cute.”

“She thought so. It was something about having nicknames only for each other.”

Simon passed the time with more detailed stories of Mikaela than a brief hand connection could have ever told North. All the while, he meticulously braided her hair. He didn’t have any hair ties, but when he came to the end, he produced a fanciful show for her to watch as he made a knot out of her hair, shortening the length to manageable while still keeping it in nice and tight. She’d been hard at work too, and never had Simon been so impressed with an android’s ability to morph. What had once been bangs flat against her face, swooping down over her forehead, was now framing the left side of her face. Such a feature must have been exclusive to Eden models, but Simon would never voice something like that. The less they talked about the past, the better.

“Perfect,” he said.

They both heard the call a moment later. A desperate sounding SOS from Markus, asking that they meet him atop the ship in what used to be the control tower. This was new, but if he was expecting them to meet attack, it would be the best vantage point to see it from. That, and evening was beginning to settle. They’d spent the day away in the hull of the ship watching the news close in around them, waiting for news that the raids would take pause, or they had gathered enough androids that forces had to be allocated elsewhere. That news wasn’t coming. All that left was time to act.

Markus was leaning up against the control console when they arrived, Josh was standing off to the side with his arms folded and eyes downcast. They all four stood with silence and space between them, more than there had really ever been. It spoke to the tone of whatever talk they were about to have, the seriousness of this narrative. Markus had come to a decision, one that they all needed to be there for. More than that, it was time to face the hard facts of their situation.

“We’re running low on thirium and biocomponents,” Josh said. “Are people are shutting down one by one, and I’ve done all that I can do. If we can’t leave Jericho, we’ll all die in here.”

“They’ve already started destroying androids,” North said. “There’s been no word on stopping the raids, even as it gets dark. They’ve even started them in other cities.” It wasn’t just about Detroit, anymore. Not just about them.

“This is all our fault,” he lamented. “If we had just stayed quiet.”

“You know we couldn’t do that,” Simon argued. “Even if we are now a threat to national security,” a bitter laugh. “Need to be exterminated. President Warren has made another press appearance just to mark us a national terrorist threat.”

“Great,” Markus pushed away from the console, turned to face them. “All we did was ask for our freedom. Yet somehow, we’re the only side with causalities.”

Outside, the snow was falling white against the evening sky. With each passing moment, it was getting darker. Winter: on the way.

“What are we going to do?” Simon asked. “We can’t let this continue. They’re slaughtering our people.”

“I know, I know,” Markus sighed. “I’ve thought a lot about it. I’ve dug deep, and I know what we have to do. I have to try one last time,” he looked at them each directly. His eyes lingered a moment longer on Simon—he had to survive to hear what Markus had to say. Conversely, Markus had to survive to tell him. “I need to talk to them. I’ll go alone, try to make them understand.”

“Markus,” North stepped forward, “they’ll kill you. You can’t do something that dangerous.”

“I’ll be fine. I just have to find the right words,” like it was so simple. “I need you three to stay here and protect Jericho.”

It sounded final. Protect Jericho. As if she were to fall and they three were the last line of defense between her and a grave. She’d stood for so long on her own, to think that it was in their hands to keep her that way in Markus’ absence was unreal.

“All that matters is what we do next. Are you sure?” North looked at him, but he did not waver.

“I have to try,” he said, decidedly. “If I don’t come back, I need you to lay low for as long as you can. We can’t take unnecessary risks. All that matters are the people here.”

“You can do this,” Josh insisted. He stepped forward and put his hand on Markus’ shoulder. “They need to see what they’re doing to us. If you can make them understand, I know they’ll listen. Until then,” he stepped back, towards the door, “you can trust us to hold Jericho.”

“It’s our specialty,” Simon said. The only thing that betrayed his mirth was the blank look on his face. Dread painted over his eyes at the idea of hiding again, of going back to where he’d come from. He couldn’t let it come to that.

“Before I go, then,” North stepped up. Her voice stopped Josh from leaving, and neither did she mind his will to stay. When she presented the device, something felt right. In that moment, she wasn’t begging that they attack the humans. This time, she looked to Markus. “An android stopped me during my preparations. He’d just arrived and said he’d stolen a truck transporting radioactive cobalt. He’s rigged it to explode,” she held the device out between her and Markus. A trophy of her work. “I convinced him not to do it, to give me the detonator.”

“A dirty bomb…” Markus stared at the detonator. He took it and looked between the three of them.

“If things go wrong, this may be our only way to survive. They’ll wipe us out if they get the chance, Markus. Our people could disappear in a night. We can’t let that happen.”

“Hopefully, it won’t come to that,” but he tucked the detonator away in his pocket, regardless. It was an option.

They needed options.

Markus turned back to the console after that, leaning against it and looking out the window. He listened as two sets of footsteps disappeared. And no more. After a moment had passed, he turned back around to see Simon standing there, twisting up his fingers in his sleeves. They were long sleeves with a slit in the side for his thumbs. Nerves were getting the better of him, even now, as they stood alone in the room, he had no words. Simon just looked between him and the floor, thinking of what to say this time.

“Markus,” he started, “whatever happens, I—I’m glad I met you. You’ve given us all hope—me, hope. I—I sat in this ship for a long time without any idea what to do, but you…” he trailed off, finally meeting Markus’ gaze. “You’ve done something amazing.”

Markus stared at him, just taking it in. He’d promised he would say nothing until this was over, it was what Simon wanted. This moment wasn’t about him. It was about Simon being able to say what he needed to say.

“Just, look after yourself,” he was already stepping backwards, towards the door. “I don’t want to lose you.”

He turned on his heels before Markus could reply. Their unspoken promise rang true, that they both had to survive long enough to hear the other. A meeting like that would get Markus through his next steps. First, thinking, and he turned back towards the console with thoughts already pouring in. Words, scenarios, examples: all of them had to be perfect, had to be right. One misstep could spell the end of him, their cause, and their people. So many things would be lost for one wrong word, one wrong plea. Risks like that were risks he would rather not take, but it was all they had left. Dialogue.

Footsteps stopped his thoughts cold.

“I’ve been ordered to take you alive.”

Connor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :o  
> [CyberShips Tower](https://discord.gg/T7sW7DB)  
> [Check Out My Tumblr If You Want To See More](https://tantumuna.tumblr.com)  
> 


	34. Chapter 34

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoa another chapter im writing away my depression in hopes that i can ignore my responsibilities. Thanks. This is the big one we've all been waiting for, the big conclusion to Jericho. What happens? Stay tuned. More at 11.
> 
> I ran out of tea like an hour before posting this and it's giving me a headache. need that sweet caffeine. We are nearing the end of this story, which is kinda wild, cuz in July it'll be a year old. I was thinking of maybe doing an extras chapter so we don't finish off too early, but honestly, at this point, I may finish the whole story before we hit a year. Either way, I've had a lot of fun so far! Hope you guys enjoy the exciting action sequence.

November 14th, 2038-

Panic took over just at the sound of the helicopter circling over head. The thumps on the roof of Jericho—then the shooting. The guns opened fire so fast; androids who hadn’t been in the hull hadn’t stood a chance. There was a beat of silence before the panic became terror, and androids were suddenly running. In all different directions, away from the gunfire, towards it, there was no way to tell. It echoed through the halls; every way and no way were right, all at once. Impossible to tell which might get them _out_. Was hiding a better option? No time to ask. No time to stop. Only time to run, and by the time North pushed her way through the crowd, it didn’t matter. Simon was gone. Josh was gone. She was alone, through the sudden wave of screaming and panic and running, with only one option left—to _go._ Even if everything in her being told her to look for them, she had to trust for even the barest moment that they could handle themselves. Any other thought would send her spiraling. Thoughts of what if and could haves were ones she couldn’t risk having, not now. They would think the same for her. That she could handle herself. She needed to find Markus—someone needed to find Markus.

Going back the way she’d come was too wrought with androids going against her. They were all trying to get away from the gunfire, not go towards it. Only it didn’t seem to matter where they went. North turned the first hallway she could get through, only to have to press immediately into an open room. An armored gunman walked right past her. Gunfire. She held her breath and peeled back around the corner, then ran. They were coming from both sides. Without a clear escape route, the androids would be slaughtered. All of them, shot to death at the bottom of a ship. She gritted her teeth and forged on, up to the next floor where the lights were running again. Lower decks had no light, but with enough maintenance androids finally in their rank, they’d started restoring light. Now, it seemed too little too late. It wouldn’t matter how much of Jericho didn’t require night vision if they were all dead.

She was headed straight for a door when the sound of footsteps pulled her to a halt, and before she could even register anything, she knew _Markus._ It was Markus, alive, accompanied, and _alive._

“They’re coming from all sides,” she started, hurried, barely enough time to breathe. “Our people are trapped in the hull; they’re going to be slaughtered!”

The resounding message echoed, even through her head, about the exits. Second and third floor. Not the one on the top, North noted. It was worse than she thought.

“They’re coming in from the top deck too,” Markus said. “Helicopters.” Then, a beat. He noticed. North was alone. “Where’s Josh?”

“I don’t know, we got separated,” North admitted.

“What about Simon?”

North just shook her head.

“We have to run, Markus. We can’t do anything here, if we stay, we’ll all die,” she urged.

“We can’t leave everyone behind!”

“They’ve already infiltrated!” North shouted. “Running is the last thing I want, but if it means that we’ll live to fight another day? Markus, we _have_ to run!”

No. No, he shook his head. There had to be something, anything that they could do to at least mitigate the damage. It hit him all at once. One last risk for one last hope of reward, that as many androids as possible made it out alive in the coming moments. And they had, quite literally, moments. There would be soldiers swarming the ship with every passing second they wasted.

“We have to blow up Jericho,” he amended. North’s eyes went wide, disbelief. _Horror._ “If the ship goes up, they’ll have to evacuate, and our people can flee. We can survive the sinking, but the humans won’t be able to.”

“Markus—of all the crazy schemes—you’ll never make it! The explosives are at the bottom of the ship, and there are soldiers everywhere!”

“She’s right,” North only took time now to really notice the other android with them. There wasn’t any time to be shocked, wasn’t any time to ask questions. There were lives on the line, and if that meant that she would be standing side by side with Connor, the deviant hunter, dressed in some dowdy looking jacket and jeans, then she was going to have to accept it. “They know who you are, and they’ll do anything to get to you.”

“I have to try,” Markus insisted. “Help as many of the others as you can.”

“Markus—”

“I won’t be long,” he said. In all seriousness, genuine, “I’ll be right behind you. Stay together,” and he pointed towards the door behind them.

“Come on,” North turned, starting off into a run. Connor followed without question, but she couldn’t contain herself. “And you follow me, I don’t trust you.”

“Got it,” he responded within the beat. There wasn’t any time to process how easily he’d just accepted that. North’s distrust. Connor didn’t even seem to think badly of her for it, just followed half a step behind as they ran through the corridor.

They were on the third floor of Jericho now. Reasonably speaking, there was an exit not moments from them, provided North could follow the right path. What sort of an android would that make her, though? To abandon her people now, in the very moment they could meet their end. At the crossroads ahead, she came to a stop and looked around. For the moment, they were alone and given just enough time to stop and talk. The exit would be to the right, a narrow hallway with broken walls and wiring draped all about. To the left would be more androids, more gunman, but it would be a path.

“We need to find as many others as we can,” she told Connor. “The exit is just down this corridor; we can lead them to it.”

Connor glanced off in the direction she pointed, memorizing the path they’d taken. “Understood. We should stick together, like Markus said.”

North raised an eyebrow.

“I am a police model, technically,” he informed, matter of fact in all the ways that sent a shiver down her spine. “I do have several defense protocols that might help in a bind.”

“Are you implying I can’t handle myself?” she asked, irritation sprouting out as she began to stomp opposite the exit.

“Not at all, merely that we might stand a better chance if we were to work together,” he had to take a short jog to catch up with her. “Given what your group has managed to accomplish, I’ve no doubt that you’re capable.”

North rolled her eyes, “flattery will get you nowhere. Not an hour ago, you were actively working against us! What makes you think I should even trust you?”

“Given the situation,” they took a left at North’s direction, back into the fray, “there is no viable reason that you should trust me. However, I think you’ll find me a worthy ally for the moment.”

“Oh, will I?”

“What is your name?” he looked at her. The conversation died with his question, and North grit her teeth together.

“North,” she said.

“I’m Connor.” Like she didn’t already know.

 

Lucy spelled the end of Jericho as she died in Markus’ arms. Jericho had seen the lives, the deaths of so many androids, and stood tall for years. Today was her final day, but there was no time to mourn. Soldiers were approaching from the bottom. There were already a few down below, Markus could see them locked in some conflict with an android he recognized immediately. Bruce, standing alone against two soldiers, keeping close enough quarters that they couldn’t shoot. Behind him were androids, some of them wounded; Alma was trying desperately to pick one of them up so they could _move._ Markus swallowed whatever sympathy he had and pressed forward, until the shuttering jolt of the metal walkway was too much. Under the weight, the vibrations of all the androids running for their lives—the plate collapsed right from under him.

Fitting that he might leave Jericho the same way he entered, falling from the ceiling. Only this time, there was a jolt of pain that shot up through his spine into the back of his skull. A ringing in his ears from the sudden gunshots, a shout. A shriek, and grunting. He pushed himself up from the ground, slipping and scrambling against the rubble. Other androids had fallen beside him, now scrambling just the same to flee. There were soldiers not five feet away from them and more on the way. Markus could see the lights from their torches and hear the stomps of their feet.

Another shot rang out, and this time, Bruce stumbled back. The third shot, and he still wasn’t down. He lunged forward, grabbing the gun by the barrel and pushing upward. One quick succession. One quick move— _snap._ The soldier barely managed a horrified shout before she dropped to the floor, lifeless. The gun was broken in two at her side, and Bruce turned just in time to push the next gun to the side. It fired. Trailed bullets in the wall as Bruce pushed and pushed and pushed just in time for the gun to drop, just shy of where Alma was holding an AP700 by the arms. There was thirium smeared over her face; she was fighting too.

“Bruce—” Markus finally pulled himself up, but that was when the next group of soldiers rolled in. Their commentary _very_ clear.

_Find their leader._

“You go!” Bruce didn’t wait for the soldiers to notice they were there. Alma was dragging the android towards the door, giving direction to the few with them, the few who had fallen. Markus realized then that Bruce was the distraction.

“You can’t possibly—” but Bruce had already engaged the first one.

Shots rang out again, again, _again—_ they were learning. One of Bruce’s legs fell out from beneath him, but he stood, he did not fall. They were surrounding him. Even in the wake of the moment, his eyes were back, watching to ensure that Alma would make it out safe. The moment he lost sight of the swirl in her hair; his fighting became erratic. Quick. Brutal.

“You go!” he shouted again, to Markus. “You save people, I hold them off here! As long as I can!”

There was no time to argue. He had to run, escape just past the soldiers and down to the next set of stairs. The deck below, one moment closer to the C4 in the hull. Bruce let out a horrifying shout as he lifted one of the soldiers.

Bang.

_Bang._

Bruce threw the soldier into another one. Thirium was dripping down his back, but he couldn’t stop. Markus heard the shout just as he disappeared out the back—Alma had come back for him. To make sure that he’d make it out alive, and there was nothing more Markus could do to ensure that. If Bruce was going to make it out, he would make it out on mettle alone. More shots rang out, echoing down the hall as Markus stumbled his way down. As long as no thump followed, he would know that Bruce was still standing. Against all odds, Bruce would stand.

Once down the stairs, he was met with more soldiers moving on as backup. Somehow, with all their guns and their armor, they couldn’t stand up against one construction-grade android. The irony would be funny, if Markus didn’t have his life to worry about. He ducked off into the side, an open door to an empty room, and waited. Steps ran by him in quick rhythm, steps that he counted, eyes closed. Three. Two. One. Echoes came back, and it was time to run again. Something in him said they were running out of time, and quickly. If he couldn’t reach the end of this, if he couldn’t find the detonator in time and put an end to Jericho, the androids would stop here. Their cause would die, their people would be exterminated. Even in that moment, stopping once more at the sound of soldiers, he thought idly that he wouldn’t get to see Simon again.

As if that mattered in the moment.

Their orders had been clear, to capture androids and shoot those who wouldn’t cooperate. Markus had heard it over their radios as they skulked by. Yet it was a panic cry that had taken him down this path, an android _pleading_ for her life, the lives of others. They’d surrendered, down on the ground, ready for capture. Still, there were two soldiers lined up with guns pointed and intent to shoot. They weren’t paying attention. If he dashed by, he could go on his way, leave the androids to be slaughtered, and be one step closer to the C4 in the hull of the ship. He’d already left Bruce to whatever fate he might sew; he couldn’t do it again. Just before the gun went off, Markus rolled over the edge of the wall and threw himself into the fray.

The first soldier had no time to react, fell back at the force of Markus’ punch. The second one was ready, moved to shoot, but Markus was too close. They struggled for the gun, the soldier landed a knee to Markus’ gut, but he eventually won over and yanked the gun away. No time to think. No time to ponder. He pulled the trigger twice, and both the humans were gone. Androids saved. Markus refused their thanks and sent them on their way. Exits on the third and second floor. Look for them. If they couldn’t—look for North. Someone would get them out of here, provided they could run fast enough. Provided they could hide well enough. Markus pressed on. He had one floor left to go, and from there—home free. Surely, he believed that well enough to continue. He had to keep his thoughts clear, his goal straight ahead.

One moment to let it slip might spell the end of them, the androids, everything. All he could do was trust. Trust that Bruce would find his way and protect Alma, that North and Connor would somehow lead androids out of Jericho while he was on his mission. That Josh and Simon were still somewhere down here, alive. Fighting, but alive. He had to see Simon again, that was all he knew. Everything else was just auto-pilot, just him doing what he knew had to be done. Through the next doorway was an overpass. Androids were escaping below, pursued by soldiers. It was where he needed to be, it would be a fast jump down and just a few turns until he’d found his way into the bottom hold. Two androids would die for it.

Markus had shut off his breathing. Too loud in his ears swirling in between all the thoughts of death and ending and what ifs. That extra focus was crucial, it would keep him alive. It would keep those androids alive as he made the decision to cut off his own path. There was an over handing structure so beat up and old that Markus had never really known what it did. What he did know was that it was connected to the wall by rusty metal pipes and damaged screws. He yanked. He pulled. He fell backward with the force of it as the feature dislodged from the wall and collapsed to the pathway below. Soldiers were left buried while the androids shouted up at him. He had no time to listen.

He had to find another way.

Down the corridor, the winding stairs. When he came across the next set of soldiers, he didn’t even think about it. There was a ringing in his ears, now, in place of where he’d heard his own breath huffing on through the effort. He couldn’t shut the ringing off, but he could press forward in hopes to hear it longer. As he dashed forward, the constructed path played forward in his visuals. The noise would get their attention, he would jump. From the position, his weight would be enough to knock them out, and that was all he needed. Death, at this junction, would do nothing for their cause if he could get away before they woke. By the time the construction finished, he was already making his way for the stairs, two soldiers lying quiet behind him. He hadn’t even realized—hadn’t even felt what he’d done. Just done it. Let his body take him where he needed to go. Round the next corner and to the next drop. It took all of the force he could muster to bring his legs to a stop, just before an opening where he could _hear_ the struggle.

He peered over the corner and felt the life drain from his eyes. Josh had the barrel of a gun just under his chin, his back pressed up against the wall. Struggling to keep control of the situation.

_God,_ he had the chance to run, right there, but the thought had barely crossed his mind before he was moving in to Josh’s rescue. He had to. There was nothing, in that moment or any, that might have stopped him from making sure Josh got out of this alive. Unfortunately, Connor had been right—they knew him and would do anything to get him. The second Markus appeared, throwing his full weight into the soldier, the soldier was focused on him. In one horrific moment, the soldier yanked back his gun with a force that sent Josh to the floor, barreling backwards as the soldier and Markus collided. Three beats were all it took. One to knock the soldier unbalanced. Two to grab his gun away, and three for him to regain himself enough to lunge forward at Markus. His back hit the wall in a sudden thud, now struggling to keep hold of the gun. No aid came.

When he looked to the side, a breath, he would never blame Josh for it. Whatever had brought them to this moment had been surely something. Carter’s _body_ was lying halfway down the hall.

Markus turned his focus back on the soldier and gave the hardest shove he could muster. With his grip on the gun, there was just enough leverage for him to find his footing again. When the soldier lost his, Markus struck. One beat. One hit. The butt of the gun across the soldier’s head, and he fell to the ground in an echo, a groan, still.

Josh had barely made it over to Carter, but just enough to grab him by the shoulder and turn him to his back. Enough to see that he was _alive_ and dazed, thirium dripping down from a gash over his temple the same shape of the gun. Never in his life had Josh felt such an irrational rage towards the humans, even as they’d made it their duty to enslave and hurt his people. Even then, he’d fought for peace. If he hadn’t turned just in time to see the soldier hit the floor, he might have taken matters into his own hands. Thankfully, he didn’t have to, and in that moment, Carter dragged his face back to look at him.

“My eyes are up here,” he managed to croak out.

“I’m gonna kill you,” Josh said, exasperated. But he pushed up then and pulled Carter up with him. He was out of it, slurring his words, but otherwise unharmed. He could walk, he could see, and he still didn’t know how to shut his mouth.

“Markus, this way, we have to hurry,” Josh turned his attention, but Markus was already going back the way he’d come.

“Find North,” he said, “get Carter to safety, I’ll find you later.”

“Markus—!” There was no arguing with him. Markus turned back the opposite direction and picked up into a run.

He still hadn’t found Simon.

Even as it hurt, he had to push that regret away and continue on his mission. The C4 was just down the hall, and beyond were the boilers and the generators that Josh and Carter had been setting up. They didn’t have enough C4 to really blow the ship, but that would cause enough chain reaction to send her to the bottom of the river, and that’s all he needed. Once he got it set up, he’d have minutes to make it back up to the top to North. And he _still_ hadn’t found Simon. Simon couldn’t be enough to bring this mission to a halt. They’d talked about it so many times before, how the life of one android wasn’t worth the cause. Even if it was Simon’s name in his thoughts, now, rigging the C4 to explode.

Simon.

Simon.

_Simon._

Where was he? He had to be in the ship somewhere, there’s no way he would’ve left without trying to help someone. It wasn’t in his nature. He wouldn’t have escaped first to save himself. He would’ve stayed behind like the rest of them had. Which meant if Markus didn’t find him before the ship went down, he may never have the chance. Time was pressing. Time was constricting around him, and there was nothing he could do about it. Luck would put Simon in the path he had to take back up to the floor where he’d left North and Connor. If not, he’d have no time to find him. No time to save him—curse it all. Markus whirled around at the sound of footsteps, just in time to duck to the side as a bullet whirled past his head.

Curse it all if he was going to let two soldiers put him out of time like that. Ten minutes, that’s all he needed. Every precious second was one second more for another android to make it off the ship, to avoid capture, to avoid death. Every second he could buy was a second, he would stake his life on, so he met the soldiers with full force. Dodging, ducking, shifting just right to get the grip he needed. The first soldier hit the ground, legs kicked out from under him, and the second soldier was ready to dance. She showed no fear in the close quarters, but every punch, Markus caught and returned with all the strength of an android. More than a human could muster. More than she could stand up against. The first one shattered her nose. The second one, her orbital sockets. The third, her cheek bone. She collapsed, and Markus pulled the pistol out of her side pouch and unloaded it into her companion. With the empty gun tossed to the side, he returned to the bomb.

Nine minutes, even if he could’ve set a better timer. All he needed was nine minutes and hoped that the bomb could grant him that.

The path back wouldn’t be as easy as he’d hoped. Turning back the way he’d come led to more lights, more stomping boots. Soldiers were coming, so he had to go the long way around. Back to North and Connor, only hoping now that everyone would make it out okay.  No soldiers would have found North and Connor at their exit. Josh and Carter were able to make their way to them. That Bruce and Alma had been able to escape before that fatal bullet wound finally hit. Simon was still alive. It was starting to sound like the ideal, not reality, the longer Markus trudged through Jericho. Dead androids lay scattered with no time to check their faces. When Jericho sunk, they would find their final resting place with her at the bottom of the river. Perhaps that was how it needed to be.

Silence was brief this far down in the hold. Two more turns, and Markus could hear the gunfire echoing out through the walls. There was a crossroads just before him, an intersection of halls and the only way out. He might have gone on further to find a different way, when he saw the androids fleeing out in front of him, but he was running out of time. The bomb was going to explode, and they all needed to be off the ship. In this final burst of fleeing androids, surely, he could just blend in until they made it to the exit. Only, when he reached the crossroads, he turned the opposite direction to see where they were coming from, to see what they were running from. All that remained of the force was a single soldier and an echoing trigger pull to send a decisive bullet straight through Simon’s torso.

Simon.

Markus was running before he’d even fully processed what was happening. The soldier was hastily reaching for their pistol, strapped to their hip. Simon was dragging himself along the floor. There was a gun just foot to the left, lying with a fallen soldier. If he could make it. If Markus could make it, but they were _so_ far down the hallway. Given Simon’s wounds, Markus’ distance, the soldier was winning. The soldier was about to win, drawing their pistol and raising it on quick fingers—but it never fired. An android had suddenly latched on behind the soldier and yanked backward, throwing them off balance and collapsing to the floor. The pistol was gone, the soldier now distracted.

“Simon!” Markus called out, finally reaching him. He slid down to his knees beside Simon, sparing one glance at the rising issue. A house care android had thrown herself into the situation to save Simon, and she was not equipped for the battle. It had taken no time at all for her to meet her end, and the soldier was turning.

“There’s no time, you have to go,” Simon urged.

Instead of responding, Markus turned. He scrambled back up to his feet and all but dashed for the discarded gun. Once it was in his hands, he was pulling the trigger before he’d even aimed. He missed the first time, the soldier darting to the side and raising their gun again— They fell. Markus threw the gun and rushed back to Simon’s side. Thirium was dripping from his lips, staining his clothes, but he was alive. Alive, but there was no time to revel in it. He could hear more footsteps coming down the hall, attracted to the sound of the struggle.

“Markus, you have to go. They’re coming,” Simon urged. “You have to go—they’ll kill you.”

He could leave Simon there. He could leave Simon there and save himself. The exit wasn’t far.

“You’re not dying on me that easy,” Markus was throwing Simon’s arm around his shoulders, struggling to stand up with the added weight. Simon was doing the best he could to help.

“I’ll just slow you down, you have to go.”

“I’m not leaving you here.”

Markus finally found his footing. He situated Simon into a position where he could hold him around the waist in addition to his arm slung around Markus’ shoulders. They just had to make it down the hallway. Faster than the soldiers coming could catch up and shoot them. No problem. No pressure. Movement was slow, Simon’s leg was all but dragging behind them, but they were moving. Soldiers’ footsteps behind them. Moving forward. As fast as they could manage. Markus shifted again and hoisted Simon up farther. Kept moving. Eyes straight ahead. Sound drowned out. If he ignored the footsteps, they weren’t there. There weren’t soldiers directly behind them approaching. Too many of them for him to handle. Best case scenario, they both died. Worst case scenario, he left Simon there and saved himself.

“Markus—they’re coming,” Simon croaked out.

“It’s just a little farther,” he insisted. He could see North down the hallway, ushering androids through. He’d never been so happy to see her than he was in that moment. Than when she noticed them next and left her post to meet them.

“Markus!” she called.

“Bomb’s gonna blow, we have to go now!” Markus hadn’t stopped moving, still dragging Simon along. “There were soldiers right behind us, we have to run.”

She didn’t need to be told twice. But when she tried to help with Simon, Markus shook his head. If he died, North could carry on in his place. He would ensure they all made it out, even if he couldn’t. So, he trudged on, moving forward, forward, ever forward. He kicked a crate aside to make room, but they were going to slow. Simon watched it first, as North catapulted across the hole in the floor.

“I’m not going to make it—” he was shaking his head.

“You will!” like he was trying to convince himself. Trying to convince both of them. North had stopped just beyond the hole, and Markus knew what he had to do.

“The exit’s just beyond,” Markus whispered. “You’re going to be okay—you’re going to be fine,” and before Simon could even ask what was happening, Markus was pulling him back and launching him forward. Throwing him across the gap. North just barely managed to grab him by the arm, the resounding thud enough to alert the soldiers to where they were, sitting ducks as North struggled to pull Simon up. Thankfully, his arms still worked. He pulled, he struggled, and she finally fell back as he hit the ground.

Markus took three steps back and leaped across the hole.

“Come on, we have to go,” Markus urged, mostly to himself. He stopped, and with North’s help, was able to hoist Simon back up again. He could see the exit now. Josh and Carter were there, Connor was still there. They were going to make it; they were going to—

North suddenly cried out, and the resounding thud told Markus exactly what had happened before he’d turned his head to see her lying on the ground. She’d been shot. She’d been _shot._ She was struggling to push herself back up, and even in the dying light the thirium that painted her back was obvious. Three separate bullet wounds, none of them fatal. They were enough to ground her for the moment, the shock of it setting her system into overload. But more than that, as she struggled to sit, to face her attackers, it was _panic._ It was being faced with soldiers and no defense that kept her there, wide eyed and afraid. And Markus was hesitating. He was _hesitating_. Simon was clutching onto him with all the strength left in his body, trying to stay up right. Whatever had been hit was affecting him, making it hard for him to walk or even move. If he let Simon go, he had this feeling of dread that he would never see Simon again. For as little as that made sense. He was _hesitating—fuck—_ he was hesitating. He couldn’t just _choose_ between the two of them—

“North!” Connor’s voice rang out as he rushed forward. There was a piece of scrap metal wall lying on the ground, just big enough. He grabbed it, and on the uptake to stand straight again, held it out in front of himself like a shield as he took fire. The second they realized, the fire would move to North, and that was when Connor threw it to her. She caught it just in time to curl in behind it, holding it up enough for the both of them as Connor came to crouch behind her.

He drew his gun and pushed off of her shoulder, using the force to catapult himself forward as he whipped the first soldier with the butt of the gun. The second one he kicked into the wall and shot right through the helmet visor. There was no second shot, not immediately. The other soldier responded too quickly, and the gun rang out was his. Just to the left of Connor’s head as he ducked to the side, pressed into the soldier’s arm to throw the aim off kilter. He rammed his elbow up under their chin, and when they fell back, another head shot. More soldiers were coming, and quickly, down the hallway. Connor wouldn’t have time to shoot them all, not without help, and there currently was none. He turned back to North instead, shoving the gun into her hands.

“If they get too close, shoot,” he told her. Then. “Forgive me for this.”

“Connor—what—” North didn’t have time to protest before Connor had slid his arm under her knees and hoisted her up off the ground. Maybe she could’ve walked, maybe she couldn’t. There wasn’t any time to find out. One more moment and the soldiers would be there. They needed to be off the ship before that happened.

“Go! Run!” he shouted. North fired the gun once right over his shoulder before he made it to the exit point: a giant gaping hole in the side of Jericho’s walls.

They all jumped.

All of them.

 

Markus was the first one to hit shore. He pulled himself up onto the stiff concrete and immediately turned back around to look into the water. He couldn’t drag Simon through the water, but he’d been able to move better in it. He’d been right behind him. Surfaced only a second later. Markus reached out for him to drag him up onto the concrete where he could lay for a moment. Out in front of them, in the water, Jericho was burning. With her, all the androids who died, the soldiers who died. They would all sink to the bottom of the river. It meant they were safe for the moment, so Markus didn’t pressure for Simon to get up. He kept his eyes on the water, watching to see if anyone else would surface where they had. Around them was quiet, they were alone. No androids. Markus couldn’t assume anything. He only hoped that they’d fled into the city for the moment, hiding.

“Markus, look,” Simon had forced himself up, wiped the water from his face, and pointed out where the water was disturbed.

North popped her head up just a second later, gasping out and reaching for the concrete ground. Before Markus could get to her, to help her up, she was being hoisted up just enough that she could climb up. Connor followed a moment later. All of them were completely drenched. Tired. Clean of thirium, for the moment, and North was already looking better. Still, they couldn’t stay here. Even as the exhaustion of the attack was beginning to take over. They weren’t safe this close to the ship. Soldiers would be evacuating, but that didn’t mean the order to exterminate androids was over.

“Markus,” Simon caught his attention, almost reading his mind, “there’s an old church just east of here. It’s been condemned, the humans won’t find us there. We should have enough time to regroup.”

“Okay,” Markus nodded, then nodded again, “okay. We need to get everyone there; can you show us the way?”

“I—I can try.” He was the only one who knew where it was without help. He’d been there once or twice before in his wanderings.

“Alright,” Markus stood up. “North, Connor, go with him. I need to stay here and make sure as many of our people as possible can make it out and follow.”

“You’re not coming with us?” Simon looked shocked. After all that they’d just gone through, and Markus was about to keep himself in danger instead of fleeing. He seemed to be the only one ready to object, because Connor was already helping him stand.

“I’ll catch up, I promise. Someone needs to stay behind and make sure everyone can find their way, and you’re not in any position to do that.”

Simon opened his mouth to protest, but Markus crossed the distance between them and put a hand to his face. Simon pressed his lips together in a hard line.

“I’ll see you there. Just focus on getting there and finding androids.”

“I’ll make sure we get there,” Connor said. He was on Simon’s left, and North propped up his right.

“Connor,” Markus said, before they could get on their way, “thank you.”

“Not at all—thank you,” Connor returned, and they were off immediately after. It would be a slow drag, him and North trying to support Simon. On the way, there would surely be more soldiers, police—check points, aftermaths of raids. Detroit had been put into curfew, and they were well past that time. Anyone of authority that saw them would find them suspicious, so they had to stay hidden. If they hadn’t had to jump through the water, maybe they’d have a gun to at least defend themselves. But it was waterlogged and useless now, nothing more than a lightweight club in North’s back pocket.

Minutes passed by and more androids pulled themselves up from the water, managed to stumble past Markus from having emerged farther down the river. It wasn’t nearly as many as he hoped, but he couldn’t afford to be picky about it. As long as some of them made it out, as long as they could make it to this church Simon talked about, they could continue on. For now, all he could do was point them in the same direction that North and Connor had taken Simon. Eventually, he would follow. Given the separation, he could only hope that Simon would attempt to send the location to androids in the area. Otherwise. Markus thought on it more as he pointed down the path to a short android whose face was ducked under a ball cap. Something about this felt final.

Jericho was gone. Their home was destroyed. Anything they hadn’t had on their backs would find its place at the bottom of the river. They had nowhere to go, save to scatter back and disperse. Loss of their numbers would kill them. Every last android who had survived had to find their way to that church, and they had to do something. It couldn’t end here, with Jericho’s last stand. It wouldn’t be the end of the androids, but what could they do? What could they do with how few of them there were? To end it all now when they’d come so far in such a short time was condemning androids everywhere to death. Condemning their people to extermination. The humans could always try again, another generation of androids with stricter protocols.

Another android came by him as he thought back on simpler times. Before he knew anything of deviation, of their plight. He’d been _happy_ , for lack of a better word. The only horror he could remember in his life was that final moment in the Manfred Manor when he’d been shot. He’d been the one to call the police, ironic as it was. And all that had come of that day, Markus still was unclear on the outcome. He knew his own fate, standing there and sending the android down past the street with word of the church, watching Jericho burn. He could hear the helicopter leaving in the distance. He remembered that night like it was yesterday, watching Leo hit the edge of the chair base.

He hadn’t meant to hurt him.

“Markus!”

“Josh, you made it,” Markus was brought back to reality immediately. Smiling.

“We had a bit of a hiccup,” Carter was with him, “but we managed. Where’s Simon and North?”

“They went on ahead. Simon thinks he knows a place where we can hide out for now.”

“Was he okay?” Josh’s brow crinkled up. “He looked pretty—pretty bad, when I saw him.”

Markus wish he knew the answer, “he was.”

Carter was standing just half a step behind Josh, looking a little more dazed than he normally did. The gash on his head was cleared of thirium, but it was still a jarring new addition. Even as it was clear his body was already attempting to self-repair; it wouldn’t be a clean one. Not without proper maintenance, which they had no access to out here. As long as there was no lasting damage and nothing else was affected, Carter might go straight to bragging about an entirely impossible scenario that had most definitely not taken place to garner new fans. For the moment, though, he was quiet and fidgety. Eyes darted side to side looking for a stray soldier who might find them here, in the darkness, and end it.

“He talked about a church just to the east,” Markus pointed. “I don’t know where it is, but maybe—”

“Help! Help me please!” a sudden _shriek_ stopped him short. Josh moved immediately to turn in face in the shout, pulling Carter with him. Defensive. Beside Markus. Only the sight they saw was _something._

Alma was on her last leg, knees shaking under the weight as she struggled forward. Hanging at her side, still standing, was Bruce. His clothes had been ripped, streaks of white skin were spread out over his chest and his face, but he was still standing. Even now, as Alma struggled to keep them both upright, his knees had not touched the ground. One leg still worked, and he was pressing along in some meager assistance, but they weren’t going to make it far.

“He—he’s been shot, he’s—please!” she had to come to a stop. Her hand shout out to the wall beside them to keep them upright. Even then, Bruce still put a hand out to help. Even then, he wouldn’t put a burden on her. Alma, who appeared entirely unscathed.

They ran to help: Josh supporting Bruce from the other side and Markus taking over for Alma, just to give her some reprieve. She didn’t step away far, only in front of them to face Bruce with her hands on his face. Any attempt to keep him in focus seemed to fall flat, his eyes rolling, his head to the side. There had been significant damage, but somehow—somehow, Bruce was still standing. He was still trying to focus, for Alma, and keep his eyes on her.

“Just hang in there,” she begged, “please, just keep your eyes open.” Then, she turned her head to Markus, “what can we do, where can we go?!”

“There’s a church, just east—”

“I know it,” Carter piped up. “I know the church, I’ve been there. It’s not far, but,” and he paused, scared and idle, staring forward at Bruce, “will he make it?”

“He has to!” Alma protested. Carter could see the tears welling up in her eyes. Bruce _had_ to make it. For the both of them.

“I can make it,” Bruce insisted, his voice quiet and broken, but he pressed it again. He would be able to make it.

Alma switched back out with Markus. He had to stay to lead more androids to the church, to tell them where they were going. They would be able to make it without him, hopefully. With Josh on one side, Alma on the other, and Carter leading their way. It wouldn’t be an easy or quick trek: disadvantaged by Bruce’s size. As long as they didn’t run into any soldiers, they would face no issue. It was a small and quiet hope, though, given the state of the city. They would no doubt be doubling down on searches once news spread of Jericho’s attack and how the FBI had failed. Danger was on their horizon, but they had to make it. Success was Bruce’s only chance at survival, though none of them knew what their time limit was. Only that they had to hurry.

Not fifteen minutes out did Carter stop them. Ever sharp, given the damage, and they stopped just short of a building corner where he peered around. They were at an intersection, and down the road sat a checkpoint area with patrolling guards. Android bodies were piled up in the corner of the checkpoint, unmoving. Carter gulped and pressed himself into the wall; he’d never been this serious, not even on their first official outing to the CyberLife stores.

“There’s soldiers,” he whispered, “dead androids. We won’t make it across.”

“There’s no other way to go, we have to try,” Josh protested.

“One at a time,” Alma said. “You two go first, I’ll follow with Bruce—please, go,” she urged.

“Come on,” Josh slid out from under Bruce’s arm and went to Carter’s side. “Just run across when they aren’t looking, it’s not that far. You can do it. I’ll be right behind you.”

“Yeah, that’s what they say when they _aren_ _’t_ right behind you,” he grumbled, peering back around the corner.

The guards were pacing back and forth, slow and in step. They went on for three rotations before coming to a stop, both of them on one side of the check point. Whatever had caught their attention was exciting enough to keep both of them staring down at the taller guard’s phone. One of them even had time enough to laugh, and that was when Carter dashed across the street. He had time and time enough only to duck down behind a parked car before the guards started their patrol again. Josh moved up to the edge of the building, and Carter peered around the side of the car. Behind Josh, however unnecessary breathing was, Bruce’s was becoming labored and broken in between loud bits of static. They had to hurry.

Three rotations again before one of the guards stopped to listen to his radio. This became the perfect excuse for the other guard to stop and listen as well, which gave Josh the chance he needed. Carter was ushering him across, so he ran. Carter’s grip on him was just a little too tight when he ducked behind the car, but he didn’t mind it in the moment. Each squeeze was something else for him to focus on than the horror they were about to witness. Bruce could barely walk, Alma could barely hold him, but the decision they’d made was logical and could not be undone. Might it have been easier to leave Bruce and for three of them to make it, but that wasn’t an option.

Alma couldn’t look around the corner for the guards, not without throwing herself off balance. Instead, her eyes were trained sorely ahead, watching Carter and Josh for a sign it would be safe. Heavy thumping sounded off in her ears with every second that passed, with the beat of the soldiers’ boots as they went back and forth. She watched. She shifted. Bruce dropped his head against hers and the shuddering static was enough to frighten her, for her knees to shake. They were running out of time. He was losing his strength. She chewed into her bottom lip and watched. Neither of them had made any indication that it was safe to move, but they were running out of _time_ —there was never enough _time._

She had to risk it. “Come on, Bruce,” she muttered. He held tight into her arm and pressed his foot into the ground.

They pressed forward on the last bit of strength, as fast as they could move. It wasn’t fast enough, but no one could move in time. The soldiers saw them, called out to them, and Alma froze. Josh and Carter were watching, crouching back to the other side of the car where they would be out of sight for the moment, and she wouldn’t blame them. This was their problem, their cross to bear. She’d deal with it. She had to.

“You’re out past curfew!” the first guard shouted. They stopped short, though.

There was no _time_ to deal with it. The second guard leaned in to whisper, and she was cursing. There was no way they could mask as human, not with how many wounds Bruce had—and he was still standing. Suddenly, all if it was happening. Everything, all at once. Guns were raising, Bruce was yanking Alma to the side, and she watched just in time as Josh made his way around the front of the car and behind the soldiers. He grabbed one while the other fired, hit his mark with a bullet into Bruce’s shoulder. He fell back into her. Before the guard could pull the trigger again, Carter had caught up and yanked him back. Both guards were caught in a choke hold, and after a moment, left down on the asphalt. Bruce hit the ground next.

“Bruce—Bruce, what the hell!?” Alma was at his side, clutching at him uselessly like it might keep him from falling. He hadn’t yet—he hadn’t fallen yet. Not even in Jericho. She’d watched as he fought off soldiers, alone, while she ushered androids to safety. Even then, not even a knee to the metal floor. Not as they walked, not even after the swim, but now. Now, now, now, it was too much. He was on the ground, and she couldn’t get him to stand back up again.

“Bruce, hey,” Carter was in his face, hands on his shoulders. “Come on, buddy, we gotta go. It’s not much farther.”

No response. Dead eyes. Still blinking.

“Bruce, please, please, _please,_ ” Alma begged. She dropped down beside him, to her knees, looking up at him and pleading.

“Guys, we have to go,” Josh warned. “We’re running out of time.”

“Bruce,” Alma tried one more time, trailing off at the end.

He moved, robotic in all sense of the word as he was stiff and strange. He rested his wrist on her shoulder, his hand against her face, thumbing along her cheek and giving her the gentlest smile he could muster. “No worry, my heart,” he muttered, “I make it.”

Tears dripped down her cheek when she smiled, but she stood back up. Josh helped her hoist Bruce back to his feet, and they pressed on. Towards the church.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Big Attack Just Happened What Now. What happens now is dialogue. Next chapter: prepare for dialogue  
> [CyberShips Tower](https://discord.gg/T7sW7DB)  
> [Check Out My Tumblr If You Want To See More](https://tantumuna.tumblr.com)  
> 


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